


and I would fall from your sweet height

by noirheart (Flumes)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Corporate, Alternate Universe - Office, Boss/Employee Relationship, Denial, M/M, Pining, Power Dynamics, Social Commentary, a little spice, but mostly sugar, can I offer you a fic in these trying times, job security and an apartment: the millenial/gen Z dream, yes it's THAT trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:49:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23250493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flumes/pseuds/noirheart
Summary: Renjun looks up, glaring. “I’m not fucking my boss, Jeno. I’m not that stupid.”“I never said you were.” Jeno’s expression turns gentle. “I know how much this job means to you. I know you’ve been through a lot –” Renjun tries not to twitch but it’s a near thing “– which is why I would never judge. I just thought, well, I’ve never really seen you like that with anyone else.”“Oh god,” he says as a thought occurs to him. “Is that why Donghyuck keeps waggling his brows at me in the morning?”Japanese TranslationSpanish Translation
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun & Lee Jeno, Huang Ren Jun/Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung
Comments: 97
Kudos: 579





	and I would fall from your sweet height

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 日本語 available: [and I would fall from your sweet height(Japanese Translation)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24436273) by [cherry2gum3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherry2gum3/pseuds/cherry2gum3)
  * Translation into Español available: [y caería (desde tu dulce altura)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27529984) by [notesonaconditionalform](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notesonaconditionalform/pseuds/notesonaconditionalform)



> To the tune of Mr Brightside: it was only 7k (it was only 7k)...
> 
> So Doyoung and Renjun interacted. That was a thing that happened. Naturally it sparked a fic idea that bloomed into this monster.

“Doyoung. Hey, Doyoung!”

Renjun hovers in the doorway of a spacious office decorated in clean lines of white and grey, a man hunched over sprawling plans as he scribbles across the page, squinting at it as if it holds the secrets of the universe. Even when Donghyuck calls his name for a third time he doesn’t look up, eyes flicking to a computer screen and then back to his drawing board. His black hair is in disarray and he’s alarmingly pale despite the looming window beyond him that overlooks the cityscape beyond, gleaming towers shining in the sun.

Of course, Donghyuck isn’t the type to let anything slide, slamming his palms down on the desk. “Earth to Kim Doyoung,” he says, snapping his fingers in front of the man’s face.

He looks up, eyes shifting left and right before he settles on Donghyuck’s face. Renjun fights the instinct to lean against the door frame, slightly dubious that this is the renowned Chief Technology Officer of NCT, Seoul’s biggest technology company. This man barely looks capable of getting himself out of bed in the morning, deep bruises beneath his eyes and stacks of abandoned coffee cups surrounding him. Crumpled paper litters the floor despite the waste basket in the corner of the room. Renjun holds in his sigh. Rich people are all the same.

“Donghyuck, haven’t we all told you about the values of knocking by now?”

Donghyuck crosses his arms. “Sure, if you’d actually, you know, answer me.”

Doyoung waves him away. “I’m working.”

“You’ve been working for the last –” Donghyuck checks his watch “– forty-three hours.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s an exaggeration.”

“The sun’s up. Or did you sleep at your desk? No wonder you’ve got that hunchback.”

Doyoung straightens. “Get out of my office, you little gremlin. Don’t you have actual work you can pretend to do? I’m telling Taeyong he needs to fire you.”

Renjun balks but Donghyuck doesn’t look fazed. “What I’m going to do is introduce you to your new assistant and then I am going to cut off your coffee supply until you realise that you’re running on nothing but caffeine and desperation. Seriously, when was the last time you showered?”

Doyoung’s brows furrow, eyes suddenly locking on Renjun in a way that makes him stiffen. In a matter of seconds he has shifted from absent-minded scientist to calculating businessman, sizing him up with an appraising look.

“Play nicely now, kids,” says Donghyuck as he skips out the door, patting Renjun on the shoulder. “Oh, and you can’t fire me. Taeil would have your head.”

“Taeil only tolerates you!” Doyoung shouts after Donghyuck but he’s already gone, back to his reception desk so he can harass any unsuspecting clients on their way into the building.

Renjun picks at his new suit jacket, not really new at all but something he picked up from a second hand store. Doyoung has a way of looking at him that makes him feel like he’s being taken apart. Dismantled for parts.

“You’re Jeno’s friend, right?”

Renjun bristles. He’s a lot more than just ‘Jeno’s friend’ but he can’t exactly run his mouth and get himself fired on the first day, so he nods stiffly, blood curdling at the way Doyoung nods dismissively and turns back to his plans.

“Um,” he begins, hating how hesitant his voice sounds. Renjun isn’t like this but he’s in an unfamiliar environment; one of pressed Oxford shirts and diamond cufflinks and chauffeur driven Bentleys on the company’s book. This is unfamiliar territory and he needs to chart it out before he can feel like he’s on steady ground.

“Um, Doyoung-ssi,” he says louder, catching the man’s attention. “What would you like me to do?”

Doyoung is already looking back down at his project when he says, “Can you fetch me a cup of coffee? Black is fine.”

Inside Renjun seethes. Outside Renjun smiles serenely, nods, and turns on his heel.

*

Renjun meets Lee Jeno by accident. They don’t exactly run in the same circles, given that Renjun’s been working two jobs since he was sixteen and Jeno has been wearing a Rolex since the age of fourteen. Somehow, things just click. Maybe because Jeno is the only rich person who doesn’t also have the rich person personality.

“Hey,” he says, nudging the man on the shoulder, taking note of the stylish coat and neatly styled hair. “That guy just tried to take your wallet.”

He doesn’t expect the man’s eyes to widen, nor does he expect him to stand up and bow as he accepts his wallet back. “Thank you so much. Say, let me buy you a coffee to make up for it.”

Renjun, who works as a barista in an artisan coffee shop four days a week, is more than tired of the smell of coffee, but seeing as it’s his lunch break he shrugs. “You don’t really need to pay. I can just make myself one.”

“Oh, but I really need to repay you for doing such a nice thing.”

Renjun arches a brow, trying to figure out if the guy is messing with him or not. A half hour later, sitting across from him at a small table by the counter, he realises that, no, Lee Jeno is just genuinely a decent person, and endearingly earnest at that. He scratches at his chin as he frowns at his book, and curious, Renjun steals a look at it as he chews his sandwich.

“That’s not how you do it. You need to think about it a little less literally,” says Renjun as he reads the question, thinking it out.

Jeno’s look of scepticism quickly transforms into wonder when Renjun scribbles out the solution and then takes another bite. “See, you have to calculate this first,” he says mid-chew, filling Jeno’s notebook with his scrawl. “Once you’ve done that the rest falls into place.”

“Whoa, dude, are you studying maths too? What year are you in?”

Renjun’s shoulders stiffen and he fights the urge to shrink into himself, standing up and grabbing his tablecloth. “I’m not a student.”

“But you’re really smart!”

“Not everyone can afford university, Jeno,” he says, wiping down sticky tables and piling other people’s discarded rubbish onto a tray. This is what he does for a living. Clean up other people’s mess.

“But –”

“It’s fine. I don’t want to talk about it.”

*

The second morning of his new job Renjun carries the coffee to the towering glass monolith that is NCT’s headquarters, taking pride of place like a glistening jewel in the business district of Seoul. He already has Doyoung’s coffee order memorised, not so prideful as to refuse to do something so menial. If he’s going to worm his way into being indispensable in this place then he’s going to have to do a lot of shit that turns his stomach, but several years of dead end jobs have bleached his sensibilities when it comes to other people’s bullshit. He’s done enough ass-wiping for tips through the years that he can suffer it for an actually decent paycheck.

“So, like, what do I actually do at this job?” he says as he greets Donghyuck at reception, the boy’s impassive expression lighting up when he spots Renjun.

Swinging in his chair, he says, “You know, help him manage his affairs mostly. Taeyong and Taeil conspired to get Doyoung an assistant after he missed an important board meeting about about a month back. They found him face down on his desk. According to CCTV he hadn’t moved for 72 hours.”

Renjun takes this in with a nod. A workaholic who couldn’t even manage his calendar. He can deal with that. Better that than a man who expects everything to be handed to him for free, like most chaebols in these huge megacorporations.

“So I’m a babysitter, essentially?”

Donghyuck shrugs. “More or less. Most of the big fries have different relationships with their assistants, depending on their personalities. Like, oh, Yeri!”

He waves to a girl with hair dyed a honey blonde as she carries a tray of coffee in. When she sees Renjun’s equally full hand she gestures with the tray. Apparently it is the universal accessory of the assistant.

“Yeri is the Head of HR’s assistant,” says Donghyuck, leaning on his chin. “Yeri, this is Renjun, who’s going to be working for Doyoung.”

Yeri sips her coffee, leaving a red lipstick stain on the white plastic lid. “Good luck with that. I don’t think he ever leaves the office.”

“Yeri will take you up. Doyoung lives on the top floor.”

Renjun nods his thanks, shuffling after Yeri as her heels clack against the marble floors. The entranceway certainly is impressive, layers of glass streaming light down upon the modern art piece that is the front desk, strips of reflective panelling and coloured lights drawing the eye to the back wall where coloured glass beams the company logo. Security guards stand by each of the entrance points where he has to scan his brand new ID badge, following Yeri to the lifts.

When they bundle in with myriad other office workers, he finds it much bigger than expected, his reflection staring back at him from between the head of the man with headphones on and the woman chewing gum. He looks different in his shirt and tie, trying to subtly straighten it in the mirror while juggling the coffees in his other hand. No one spares him a glance but he still feels conspicuous, like anyone can recognise him for the imposter that he is.

“You need to wait until the top,” says Yeri, pushing the button with her painted purple nail. “Don’t look so nervous. Doyoung isn’t one of the scary ones anyway.”

“I’m not scared.”

Yeri eyes him, her blouse as blinding white as her teeth, her hair perfectly coiled and pinned in an elegant bun with strands of hair framing her face. “No, I think you’ll fit in fine. Don’t let him off easy. They need someone to give them a sense check every now and then.”

The door pings and she glances up. “Oh, that’s me. See you later.” Then she’s sauntering off, the click-click-click of her heels fading.

Renjun leans back and sighs. He really has no idea what he has let himself in for.

*

“You’ll need to get Doyoung to give you permission to share your calendar,” says Jungwoo. “That way you can plan out his diary. Otherwise he accepts every invite without thinking and ends up double booking himself.”

Renjun nods along as Jungwoo takes him through the basics of the job. It is, as far as he can see, basically babysitting for a man who thinks he’s too important to organise himself. Jungwoo looks up at him as he guides him through the organisation, his expression softening at whatever he sees on his face.

“Hey, I know it’s daunting at first. I was stumbling over myself the first week I had to ride up to the top floor. It can be a bit intimidating.”

Renjun chokes out a laugh. “Yeah. I mean, I’m not _scared_ , but it’s a lot.”

“If you need anything, I’m just across the hall. I’m Taeil’s PA. He’s the Chief Financial Officer and he makes sure the other two don’t run the company into the ground.”

“Who else is on this floor?”

“Just the CEO, Taeyong, and the COO, Ten.” Jungwoo points down the hall. “You won’t see them too much, since they both travel quite a lot for business. Between you and me, there’s talk that Ten’s going to be promoted when the Shanghai merger deal goes through some time this summer. But that’s strictly on the DL right now.”

It means nothing to Renjun. “How long have you been working here?”

Jungwoo smiles, tapping a finger to his lip. “Hmm. Two years now? Just a little over that. It’s crazy how quick the time goes.” Closing the lid of his laptop, he rises from the table they’ve been sitting at in the communal area next to the lifts, somehow too soft for the corporate world with his warm eyes and baby face. But there’s a twinkle to his eyes and a confidence to the way he holds himself that speaks to his experience in the job.

“Seriously, Renjun, relax. All anyone wants is for Doyoung to manage himself a little better. If you can stop him from putting himself in an early grave we’ll all be happy.”

A door across the hall opens and a head ducks out. “Jungwoo, are you ready for this budget meeting? I need you to minute this so Baekhyun can’t pretend he didn’t agree to departmental cuts again.”

“Just coming.” Jungwoo pats him on the shoulder. “Go and get set up. I’ll check in on you later.” He strides off after a short man in a sharp suit, his shoes shining as he waits by the lift, eyes glued to the phone on his hand.

Once they’re swallowed by the sliding metal doors, Renjun looks around the empty room and sighs. No more cowardice; he just has to get on with it. Swallowing the lump of fear in his throat, he wipes the sweat from his palms and steels himself, knocking twice before entering the door with a plaque that reads Kim Doyoung, Chief Technology Officer.

“I told you I don’t want to attend Taeil’s damn budget meeting already,” grumbles a voice hidden by his monitor. “Come back when we’re actually talking about the funding for the new 127 smartphone project and maybe I’ll be interested.”

Renjun hesitates and then clears his throat. “Um, Doyoung-ssi. Hello?”

Doyoung ducks his head around his computer, eyes narrowing. “You’re not Jungwoo.”

“Well, no. I am going to be your Jungwoo from now on, though.”

Doyoung arches a fine brow. “That’s quite an assertion.”

Prickling, Renjun cocks his hip and lifts his chin. “I’m not the one that regularly falls asleep at his desk. I’ve been brought in to help you manage your affairs.”

A hand waves him away, eyes already back on his screen. “I think someone with a PhD can manage just fine on his own, thank you very much.”

Renjun sucks in a breath, willing himself not to mouth off at his new boss on his first day. He needs this salary. He might actually develop a normal sleep pattern if he can keep this up. “Yeah, if that was the truth I’m sure they wouldn’t be forking out for my salary.” Planting his laptop on the table to the side of Doyoung’s desk, he fires up his email. “I’m sending you a request to share your calender. Please accept or else I won’t be able to help you.”

Doyoung doesn’t even spare a glance. “What an insult. If Taeyoung thinks I can’t even manage a calendar then –”

“Doyoung-ssi I’m here to help you. You should just accept the help.”

Doyoung cocks an eyebrow, looks him up and down, and then snorts. “Sure, sure. You want to have a look at my calendar? Go wild.”

“I’ll need access to your inbox, too.”

“I don’t see why that’s –”

“Someone needs to write all those basic HR-approved responses to the press and other busybodies or you’re going to end up with another article on your hands like the time you called that reporter a ‘stalker who was so obsessed with you she should just frame your picture on her wall’.”

Renjun’s heart thumps at way Doyoung narrows his eyes at him, thinking over what he’s just said to his new boss. To his surprise Doyoung simply laughs. “So you did your research. Good. She was obsessed. Called me every damn day.” A notification pings and he sees he can now access Doyoung’s inbox and calendar, eyes widening when he sees more than a thousand unread emails. “Have fun,” he says with a dismissive hand.

“Do you never respond to your emails?”

“Kid, I have other things to do. Like, you know, designing the new high tech tablet we promised to our investors last year.”

Renjun just huffs and gets to work.

*

“Your uncle Doyoung is a dick.”

Jeno coughs, choking on his coffee. Spluttering, he pats at the table until Renjun sighs and passes him over a napkin. The idiot has spilled it down his crisp white shirt but he hasn’t noticed so Renjun’s not going to bother pointing it out. Let the asshole suffer for encouraging him to apply for a job working for one of the most obnoxious tyrants he’s ever met. Every time he packs up to leave at five Doyoung makes a point of checking his watch and tsk-ing, as if Renjun makes even a fraction of his monthly salary in a year.

“I mean, he’s not _actually_ my uncle. And he’s, well he’s Doyoung, but he’s not a bad guy. A little... tactless sometimes but he’s a caring person.”

Renjun arches a brow. “You sure about that? When he’s not pretending I don’t exist he’s ordering me around like I’m his slave. He talks down to me like I’m a moron. I might not have a degree but I’m not an idiot.”

“I know you’re not,” says Jeno, leaning back in his seat.

It feels weird, to be sitting here and not either manning the counter or sweeping the table. He itches with the need to rub the coffee ring in front of him before it can solidify into a permanent stain but he resists. If he’s going to be part of the corporate world he’s going to have to start pretending he belongs there. It feels like they can sniff him out like sharks, eyes catching on his when he presses the button in the lift to send him careening up to the top floor.

“Listen, give it time. Doyoung’s a reasonable guy, I promise you. To be honest, he really appreciates straightforward people like you. I’d be surprised if he didn’t take to you, knowing how you are.”

Renjun arches a brow, some of the tension easing from him. “How I am?”

“You know,” says Jeno, “kind of blunt. You don’t typically tiptoe around people.”

“It’s hard,” he grumbles, staring at the murky brown contents of his coffee, already lukewarm. “I’m not from your world, Jeno. I’m not – I’m not quite familiar with it, I suppose.” When he looks up Jeno’s eyes are soft and it makes his stomach burn. He fights the acid, reminds himself it’s not Jeno’s fault that he doesn’t understand, even if the pity makes him want to throw up.

“Do you want me to speak with him?”

“No!”

Renjun flinches as a few heads turn to look at him. “No, I need to win him over himself. Sorry, Jeno, I just needed a chance to offload.”

Jeno still looks worried but he nods, happy to be prompted onto safer topics. Renjun sits and stews even as Jeno leaves for a study group, thinking it over. It’s true that this is his reality and he needs to just accept it. This job is better than anything he could have hoped for, really, and if he can find a way to make it work then he no longer needs to work himself two shifts a day just to make ends meet.

Even though it’s a Saturday he takes out his work laptop, too afraid to leave such an expensive piece of equipment in his dive of a apartment, and powers it up, seeing the tension in his hands reflected in the shiny brand logo. Grimacing his way through cold coffee, he studies Doyoung’s calendar intently, overwhelmed by the sheer volume of appointments crammed into every day.

_I need to work out what’s actually necessary,_ he thinks, jotting down various acronyms into his dog-eared notebook that he’ll need to ask Donghyuck or Jungwoo about later. Once he knows what’s actually important for Doyoung to attend he can clear out the rest.

Next he sets about creating folders for each of the different major projects Doyoung is in charge of, taking a matching note in his book. Within this he creates subfolders for each type of correspondence, noting names that crop up frequently. From there he checks them against NCT’s employee registry, determining whether they’re important or not, searching up their picture so he can put a face to the name. He googles the journalists looking for comments, matches them to their papers. He checks up on consultants, the kind of work they’re involved in and their level of seniority. Renjun is determined to be familiar with anyone even tangentially familiar with Doyoung. If he’s going to be fielding his emails, then he’s going to need to know who he’s dealing with, after all.

Once everything he thinks needs to be dealt with has been flagged, he scribbles down a note about contacting Yeri on Monday to determine a suitable HR approved narrative for fobbing onto the journalists and students and other interested bodies. After it’s all sorted, organised, filed, he sits back with a sigh, blinking his tired eyes. It’s dark outside, he realises with a start, having whittled the time away in the peaceful murmur of chatter around him, the whistle of machines a familiar comfort to him after years on the other side of the counter. He’s not sorry to have done work on a Saturday – the concept of a five day week still doesn’t mean anything to him yet – but he doesn’t quite know what to do with this strange sense of satisfaction settling into his chest, burning like his coffee would if it wasn’t frigid in its forgotten cup.

Renjun needs to remember who he is. Unfamiliar with this new world he may be, but he’s no snivelling coward letting people walk all over him. He’s smart, he’s adaptable, and most of all, he’s willing to work hard to get what he wants. Doyoung just hasn’t seen that yet.

*

“Oh, Renjun, can you fetch me some more –”

“No more coffee, Doyoung.”

Doyoung’s eyes dart up, boomeranging from offended to surprised in a matter of moments as he appraises Renjun standing over him. He opens his mouth to speak but Renjun speaks over him.

“You’ve already had four cups. Any more and you’re just begging for a heart attack. Now, we need to sit down and make a plan for your schedule. I need to understand how you work so I can help you.”

“I don’t need a schedule. Everything I need is up here.” Doyoung taps his finger against his temple.

Renjun sighs. “How much time would you say you lose due to interruptions? How many times does your attention get pulled from one thing to another so you can’t finish the thing you were working on?”

Doyoung’s brow furrows. “I’m capable of compartmentalising –”

“Clearly not very well, if you keep missing board meetings. Have you seen Taeil’s latest budget report?” When Doyoung doesn’t respond he ploughs on. “He’s threatening to cut funding to the 127 project because you weren’t there to justify why it was necessary to the company. I know you’re busy but that’s just plain stupid.”

Indignation flickers in Doyoung’s eyes but Renjun doesn’t give him the chance. “We’re going to sort out how you work. Now. I can field your calls and emails, but I can’t go in and speak for you at board meetings. I know your work is important, but so is Taeil’s to keep this company running, so you’re going to need to get your head out of your ass and actually clear some time out if you want to keep all these passion projects of yours.”

For a moment of heart-wrenching silence Renjun worries he’s gone too far, crossed a line that Doyoung’s monstrous ego can’t surmount, and his hands begin to tremble, dampening the pages of his notebook. But then Doyoung rocks back in his chair with a huff of a laugh, eyeing Renjun like he’s seeing him for the first time. “What, exactly, did you have in mind? Because I still need to have my project team meetings, and my research is constantly evolving, not to mention meetings with investors to justify how I’m spending their money.”

“Fine. Let’s just say you need a full afternoon to catch up with your teams. What day would suit you – how’s Wednesday?” Doyoung says nothing so he jots it down. “I’ll make sure no one can reach you on a Wednesday afternoon.”

“What you’re my guard dog now as well as my golden retriever?”

“What can I say? I’m multi-talented.”

Doyoung snorts.

“I know you need time for research and design, so let’s say Tuesdays and Thursdays you focus on that. It’s not healthy to sit all day and night, so why don’t we say three hours in the morning and three hours after lunch?”

“Four hours.”

Renjun stares at him but he can’t really argue with the compromise if Doyoung is going to play along. “Four hours, then.”

“That’s morning and night.”

“So all day?”

Doyoung snorts again. “For you, maybe. That’s nothing.”

Renjun tsks. “That’s not healthy. How can you possibly do your best work if you’re not at your best capacity? You know not getting enough sleep actually causes brain damage, right?” When Doyoung tries to argue he crosses his arms and fixes him with a look. “But not if it’s you, right?”

“You’re not what I expected.”

Renjun waves him away. “I get that a lot. Anyway, board meetings are on a Friday morning and you _are_ going to attend. Every last one.” When he looks up, he’s surprised to find Doyoung looking pensive.

“What about the other time?”

Renjun sits next to him, bring out his laptop. “I need you to talk me through which of these meetings you’re generally expected to attend. And don’t give me bullshit, because I’ll double-check with Jungwoo.”

Doyoung’s shoulders slump as he sighs. “Fine.”

“Also, you need time to actually _read_ these reports you’re signing off. The last minute of the board refers to the, hm, poor quality of what had been submitted to them in the past few months.”

Doyoung gapes. “I’ll have you know I have the highest quality minds amongst my staff. They know how to write a report.”

“I’m sure they do, but they also need to have time to be able to write them without you breathing down their necks like a mother hen.”

“I don’t –”

“You do. Seriously. I went with you to the last solar-powered charger project meeting. You ripped every idea to shreds and made them completely re-submit plans to your exact specifications. If your staff are as good as you say then you need to show a little trust. It will reap rewards, trust me. I’ve been under enough bad bosses to know.”

Doyoung turns sharply, studying him in that unsettling way again.

“Besides, I think you forget that Taeyong and Ten have come from business backgrounds and aren’t necessarily going to understand all the technical jargon in your reports. I’ll do my best to proofread them for you, but I’m not going to pretend I have your expertise –”

“Are you saying I have to dumb my reports down?” Now Doyoung looks offended.

“You have to make them readable for the average non-engineer. Do you think Taeyong, Ten or Taeil are dumb?”

“No,” he says reluctantly.

“Well, then.”

Doyoung stares at him for a long moment. Then with a sigh, he waves a hand. “Alright, Marie Kondo. Tell me what sparks joy.”

*

Renjun isn’t blind to the stares when he walks into the boardroom on the heels of Doyoung, momentarily missing the stunning vista across the back window of the glittering skyscrapers that make up Seoul’s skyline as he sits with the other secretaries at the back of the room and Doyoung takes his seat at the executive’s table. He takes a vindictive pleasure in watching Doyoung’s shoulders hunch further and further as people keep casting glances at him, glaring when the COO Ten drops into a chair next to him and slings an arm over his neck.

“Look what the cat dragged in. What ever did we do to deserve the grace of your presence?”

“Hey, I came, didn’t I?”

Renjun snorts behind his hand as he fires another standard email response off to a reporter. If he’s going to work in corporate hell, he may as well get his kicks while he can.

“Your doing, I take it?”

He glances up as Jungwoo drops into a seat next to him, Taeil sitting on the other side of Taeyong at the head of the table. “I just reminded him that he had every incentive to come to these things. Otherwise, you know, he’s not going to get the funding he wants for his shiny new projects.”

Jungwoo’s eyes crease as he smiles. “I had a feeling you were going to fit in well around here.”

Renjun tries to tamp down the flutter of warmth it gives him. Curse him, he’s always been weak to praise, even when he doesn’t particularly think it’s warranted. But at least someone recognises his use, and hey, Jungwoo is pretty enough to make his cheeks flush as he turns back to his computer.

The discussion that follows between the company executives is boring enough that he tunes most of out unless it directly relates to Doyoung and his department, filling his time by answering emails and scanning over a project report that came in from one of the junior members of the team, cleaning up some of the messy grammar to make it sound more legible and highlighting a few parts for Doyoung that he thinks might need checked more thoroughly. By the time he’s mailed it to the CTO the meeting is finished, people rising up around him. Renjun closes the lid of his laptop, waiting for Doyoung to finish his back-and-forth jibes with Ten.

“I’m glad to see you’re settling in, Renjun. If you need anything, you know where to find me,” says Jungwoo as he follows Taeil out.

Renjun waves him away, tagging on at Doyoung’s side as he shakes his head. “This is what you dragged me to? So I could grilled on everything I do?”

“It’s called accountability,” he replies, relieved when they’re back in the relative peace of Doyoung’s spacious office. “Even at your level you need to answer to the CEO. If he doesn’t think your projects are financially viable then he’ll want to see amendments to your proposals.”

Doyoung’s brow furrows. “I’m not an idiot.”

“Maybe not. But he had a point about the potential trials we might see with the introduction of 5G. You should at least have a paragraph or two outlining how you plan to mitigate any delays and how to reduce the costs of producing the technology for the common person. Not to mention the potential security risks.”

When he looks up from his laptop he finds Doyoung staring at him. “What?”

“You’re smart.”

“Well, yeah?”

“But you don’t have any qualifications. You have the bare minimum to graduate high school.”

Doyoung says it so casually, like he’s worthless, that Renjun sees red. He drops the stack of reports he had printed out for Doyoung with a thud, his hands clenching into fists. “I’ve been working since I was fourteen. As soon as I was old enough I had to leave high school so I could get enough income just to feed myself. I didn’t have the luxury of studying.”

“Renjun, I didn’t mean –”

Renjun stops his with a hand. “I know. Okay, I know none of you understand, with your garage full of cars, and your fancy watches and suits that cost more than my salary. I know I must seem so quaint and rural to you, when you can’t possibly understand that I had nothing and I had to pay bills or get kicked out of my apartment. Just because I can’t put it to some certificate, doesn’t mean I’m stupid. Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to go and work outside.”

He slams the door with a resounding thud, something hot and dark burning in his chest. Tears prick at his eyes but he resolutely blinks them away. He won’t let them see him cry in this place, all sleek glass and a thousand feet of prejudice. No, he’ll wait until he crawls home to his apartment in the shitty end of town, crawl beneath the covers, and let himself break. For now he’ll crack on with his emails, because fuck them he’s not too prideful to turn down a solid wage.

Doyoung hasn’t earned his tears. Not yet.

*

“Can I ask you something?”

Jeno must recognise the tone of his voice because he looks up from his phone, probably glued to whatever memes Jaemin is sending him. “What’s up?”

“Doyoung. He’s…” Renjun sighs, embarrassed that he’s tripping over his Korean now when he’s spent so long perfecting it, mimicking every customer from his days in the coffee shop until he could fit his mouth around the sounds. Jeno just waits patiently. “I know he’s your family.”

“I mean, we’re not actually related, but yeah. He’s been in this from the beginning with Taeyong. They used to go to university together back in the day and he kind of became my cousin by default.”

Renjun’s gut roils. He likes Jeno. Would go as far as to call him a real friend. But sometimes he forgets the boy comes from a world of gilded privilege. He probably doesn’t see it; the way people look down their nose at him and sneer. They’ve never done it to Jeno, handsome, wealthy and full blooded Korean as he is.

“Is everything alright? Are you getting on alright?”

He looks away, taps his fingers on the table. “It’s fine. He’s fine. He’s just…”

“Just?”

“Well, he’s a bit of a dick, isn’t he?”

Jeno winces. “Doyoung can be a little blunt, yeah. But he’s not a bad guy, I promise you. Once he takes you under his wing he has a tendency to dote, no matter what he might say. I know he can be harsh with his wording sometimes though. Why? Did he say something?”

“No. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Renjun!”

“Let’s forget it,” he says, rising from his seat despite Jeno’s protests. “Don’t say anything to him, okay?”

Jeno’s mouth is pressed in an unhappy line but he eventually agrees.

Renjun leaves under the guise of getting back to work.

*

Renjun falls into a routine. He soon forgets to be afraid of the layers upon layers of glass as he walks amongst the crowds of suits, nodding to security and Donghyuck slouched over the reception desk fiddling with his computer, taking the lift up to the top floor. He spends his days reading reports, responding to Doyoung’s emails on his behalf, prodding him from one schedule to the next, and sometimes wrenching him from the black holes he falls into in the midst of his research. Sometimes he takes lunch with Donghyuck and Yeri, the three of them chattering about nonsense and bitching about their bosses.

It’s weird, how people start to learn who he is. He’s not important – not by a long shot – but you don’t become the shadow of the CTO without others beginning to notice. Now when he pops down to the R&D floor to dredge Doyoung from one meeting to present him to the next he receives a polite greeting from Sooyoung, who’s part of the 127 project, and sometimes the ever silent Sicheng will even give him a nod. The team have come to learn that when he arrives he means business.

But the most common part of his routine is at the end of the day when he shuts up his laptop to find Doyoung still tapping away at his keyboard, or bent at an uncomfortable angle over his drawings. This time, however, he looks up from his work to find Doyoung’s head slumped over his folded arms, lips parted and brow furrowed in sleep. Even now he looks like he’s thinking in his dreams, sprawled over his own drawings.

Renjun snorts. It would almost be cute, if he weren’t the devil. Feeling mischievous, he plucks off one of the yellow sticky notes from his stack, scribbles on it, and then sticks it to his forehead.

On his way out the door the words peer back at him in black ink: _Coffee is not a substitute for sleep._

*

The club is smoky when Renjun arrives, coloured pink and blue with neon lights, and the bass is thrumming from the slow, sensual song playing over the speakers. For a moment he panics when he meets the throng of bodies on the dance floor, thinking maybe he’s got the wrong place, but then he spots Jeno laughing into Jaemin’s shoulder, Yeri in a pretty velvet dress downing her drink with a knowing smile on her face. They greet him with a chorus of exclamations that ease the tired, worn ache within him, and he lets himself be prodded towards the bar, something sweet and sharp with alcohol placed into his hand.

“I’m glad you could make it,” says Jeno, slinging an arm around him. From the way he’s slurring his words ever so slightly, he’s probably had a few already.

“I couldn’t miss your birthday, could I?” he coos, pinching Jeno’s cheek.

Jeno squirms in his grasp good-naturedly, Jaemin laughing loudly. For kids born with silver spoons in their mouths they’re alright, and with the low lights disguising the fact that he’s just wearing jeans and one of his nicest black shirts that used to wear to his old job, he doesn’t quite feel the differences so starkly. So they line up their shots and clink them together, the tequila burning as it slides down his throat, Yeri snorting when he pinches his face at the sourness of the lime. It feels nice, to be a part of something, even if he’s intruding on Jeno’s gang.

“Alright, bitches, you can start the party now. I have arrived.”

All heads turn to Donghyuck as he approaches them, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, glitter shimmering across his eyes. He’s something different outside of work; confident, bright, larger than life. As soon as he enters the room he’s the centre of it, several of the dancers casting him glances as he pulls up to their table, leans over Jeno and plants a kiss on his cheek. Jeno grimaces, shoving him off and wiping at his cheek frantically as Jaemin doubles over with laughter.

“Simmer down, Donghyuck. Jeno’s still your cousin.” Yeri yanks him down into a seat beside her.

Donghyuck just bats his eyes at her in over-exaggerated manner. “Do you want a kiss, too? Come here.”

She bats him away with a shriek, spilling alcohol across the table. Renjun laughs along with the rest, the liquor burning in his stomach like a furnace as more drinks are bought, the glasses stacking up around them. The music blares, making it difficult for them to hear one another, leading to more than a few hilarious miscommunications. It isn’t long before Donghyuck and Yeri are slurring along to the words of a BTS song, Renjun tapping his finger to the beat. Jeno bounces in his seat, eyes creasing into crescents as he turns to Jaemin and prods him towards the dance floor. He’s up in a surprisingly fluid motion for all the tequila he’s had, shirt flowing like silk as the neon lights wash over him. Then he’s weaving into the throng, swaying to the rhythm with a dancer’s grace.

Jaemin stares at him for a moment, downs the rest of his drink with a sigh, and says, “Well, someone’s gotta look after him, right?”

Yeri snorts against Donghyuck’s shoulder as he cuts through the crowd to join Jeno, the two of them far too close to really be called platonic. “Take your bets on when they start boning. I say tonight’s going to be it.”

“You mean they aren’t already?” Renjun blurts, tracing a sticky ring left by his glass, flashing pink in the lights. He’s never been certain about them.

Donghyuck wrinkles his nose. “Nah, they’re both too repressed. They’ve been friends for too long and are both too worried about fucking it up.”

“As if that really matters,” says Yeri.

“It does.” Donghyuck looks uncharacteristically sombre for a moment in the way that people only can be when they’ve consumed a table’s worth of drink and are ready to philosophise. “When you’re that close to someone taking that step can really fuck everything up if it doesn’t last. Just because people are good friends, doesn’t mean they’ll make good partners.”

“ _Friends,_ ” snorts Yeri, eyes flickering to Jeno’s hand on Jaemin’s shoulder, the two of them locking gazes as they dance.

“You know what I mean. Right, Renjun?”

Renjun means to reply but his attention is stolen by the figure striding past the bar, his long black coat flowing around him as he cuts a path easily through the throng, chin tilted high like he knows his importance. Several looks are drawn his way as he walks, his inky black hair styled back to expose the sharp lines of his face. He spots Jeno and his features lights up, an earring in his ear glinting in the flashing lights. Approaching him, he throws his arms open for a hug, the two of them embracing in the middle of the floor. Renjun’s gut churns but he’s not sure it’s the alcohol.

Doyoung walks Jeno back to his table, a sleek black ribboned box clutched in Jeno’s hands. Like a model Doyoung slips his coat off and drapes it over his arm, revealing a sleek blue shirt that exposes his collarbones and throat, tucked into tight black velvet trousers. Even someone like Renjun can recognise impeccable tailoring. He’s so distracted he almost doesn’t see Jaemin trudging after the pair of them, sinking down next to Donghyuck, opposite a beaming Jeno opening Doyoung’s gift to reveal what can only be some kind of expensive watch.

“You didn’t!” Jeno gasps, taking it out the box with careful fingers. “It’s stunning. Hyung, you shouldn’t have!”

Doyoung tuts at him. He looks different like this, the outfit emphasising the sleek lines of him; the aura of power that he emanates at all times. But his face is soft as he takes the watch and fixes it around Jeno’s wrists, Renjun’s gaze drawn to his hands, long piano fingers that make something hot curl in hit gut.

“Does your bet still stand?” Donghyuck hisses at Yeri as he leans back and towards her ear.

She swats at him, both of them watching Jaemin with troubled looks. Renjun can’t tear his eyes away from the pair of them, realising that despite how he came to work for Doyoung, he’s never seen the two of them really interact before. Doyoung’s supposed to be like family to Jeno – but he isn’t _family_ – and the thought tumbles through his head, slower and slower each time until he feels stuck, hot and sticky with a feeling he doesn’t recognise.

“What do you think?” Jeno flashes the watch to the table and Renjun feels them collectively draw breath, all giving non-committal responses.

“I’m going to get some more drinks,” says Jaemin, sliding from the booth. “Any orders?”

“No, no, please. Let me.” Doyoung stands in a smooth motion. “My treat.”

Jaemin doesn’t seem to have it in him to protest, and Renjun can sympathise. Jaemin might come from money but Doyoung’s in another league, belonging to glass towers that scrape the heavens, and the glossy magazines that boast of his innovation. He’s an adult in a way the university students can never be, and even the most confident of men couldn’t help but be intimidated by his aura.

As Doyoung walks away, the atmosphere turns oppressive. Jeno is the only one who doesn’t seem to realise, admiring the way his watch reflects the light. Unable to stomach the atmosphere, Renjun mumbles to him and then slides out, stumbling over in the direction of the bar to be free of the awkwardness. He doesn’t really intend to go in Doyoung’s direction, but it’s like the habit has been stamped into him by the months spent with him that he ends up there anyway.

“I didn’t expect you to show up in a place like this.”

Doyoung starts and then turns, eyes bugging when they land on Renjun and sweep him up and down in a gesture that reminds him of that first day. Assessing. He doesn’t remember a full-body shiver sweeping through him the last time.

“I can’t say I expected you, either,” he replies, mouth quirking at the corners. A lock of hair falls from where it’s been slicked back, curling across his forehead. Renjun itches to push it back. Doyoung takes the glass put down by the bartender, taking a sip while never breaking Renjun’s gaze.

All the alcohol in his system starts to burn.

“It was being friends with Jeno that got me the job in the first place.”

Doyoung waves him away. “Maybe so. But I wouldn’t have kept you around if you couldn’t keep up.”

That almost sounds like a compliment. Renjun arches a brow, leaning over the bar as Doyoung slides a drink across to him. Restless with pent up energy, he wraps a hand around the cool surface and takes a drink, resisting from reacting to the way it burns. He wipes at his lip with a thumb and feels his stomach drop when Doyung follows the motion.

“I trust Jeno’s judgement, so.”

“Is that all it is?”

Doyoung furrows his brow.

“Jaemin’s being glaring daggers at you since you arrived, you know. The two of you are even closer than I had realised.”

A small smile creeps across Doyoung’s face as he takes another drink, throat swallowing as whisky sloshes like liquid gold in his tumbler. “You all think I’m fucking him, you mean.”

Renjun feels his face colour at the crassness. “I know you’re not. At least I think you’re not but it certainly looked –”

“Jeno’s like a little brother to me. Taeyong basically is my brother at this point, we’ve been doing this for so long now. Jeno’s his cousin but I became fond of him when he interned at the company a few years ago. He had such a good attitude for one of those spoiled rich kids.”

“Aren’t you –”

“A spoiled rich kid?” Doyoung snorts. “Now, yes. I have more money than I know what to do with. But I wasn’t always like that. Not that I ever struggled – my family were comfortable, if normal – but I wasn’t like Taeyong or the rest of the Lees. You should have seen him in university.” He whistles. “It pays to be well-off, of course, but you should never underestimate this.” He taps at Renjun’s temple, a soft, barely there touch that makes him tense.

The alcohol is catching up to him, making him feel too slow to react. The music changes and he begins to shake his head to the beat, humming softly to himself as he lets his body sink into the feeling. It feels good. Tingly. He wants to dance.

“Where are you going?” says Doyoung with amusement.

Inhibitions wiped clean by spirits, Renjun just grabs his wrist and drags him onto the dance floor. The sensible part of his brain has been flooded, and so he lets his head fall back and sway to the music, the hand on Doyoung’s wrist sliding up the soft silk of his shirt until it reaches his shoulder. Dark eyes follow the movement before flicking back to his, molten as they burrow into his.

“Renjun,” he breathes, both a warning and a welcome.

“Dance,” he says, not wanting to think. His thoughts are too blurry to catch. “Dance with me.”

He’s warm all the way to his core, the lights spinning around him, and Doyoung’s spicy scent washes over him. Closing his eyes, he loses himself to the rhythm of the song, throwing his head back and swaying. Doyoung’s body radiates heat that draws him in, keeps him spinning in his orbit. It feels so good just to let go, dark eyes anchoring him before he can float away on the haze of alcohol. His skin vibrates with pleasure.

The next thing Renjun knows he’s stuttering awake with a splitting headache and a dry mouth, too bright light spilling through a crack in his curtains. Hissing, he burrows back beneath his blankets until the previous night’s memories come crashing back into him all at once in blurry snippets and he freezes. He’s alone in the bed, in his own room. God. He had draped himself over Doyoung. Flirted. Practically threw himself at him. Vomit rises in his throat but he swallows it back down, wincing at the burn.

A yellow square catches his eyes. It’s a post-it note that’s been stuck to his bedside cabinet. _Helped you home. Hope you feel better in the morning! - Jeno._

Renjun scrambles out his bed to stare at it. Did Jeno see where he lives? His stomach flips, last night’s alcohol roiling inside him, and he runs straight to the bathroom to throw most of it up into his toilet. Bone-weary and shivery, he squeezes his eyes shut and tries not to picture Jeno – handsome, well-dressed, stinking rich Jeno – calling a taxi to his dump of a neighbourhood. Lugging him several flights of stairs because the lift has been broken since he moved in, stumbling because the light keeps flickering. The shame is overwhelming.

Renjun presses his fingers into his eyes and groans, vowing to never drink again.

*

“I suppose I should be pleased you made it in okay today.”

Renjun pauses in the middle of Doyoung’s office, narrowing his eyes.

“You’re really going to lecture me on punctuality? _You?_ ”

Doyoung looks mock-offended, huffing and crossing his arms. “I’ll have you know I wasn’t late to a single meeting this week.”

Renjun slaps two new reports on his desk that require his approval. “That’s because I made sure you came on time.”

Doyoung’s mouth twitches. Renjun forces himself to keep a straight face, despite the way his cheeks flush. He’s not going to be embarrassed about what happened if Doyoung’s not going to make a big deal out if. He got drunk at a friend’s birthday drinks. It happens. If anything it’s Doyoung’s fault for crashing a get together he wasn’t even invited to.

“Anyway, you have reports to sign off before your project meeting. I need to make copies so I can hand them over to the other executives ahead of the board meeting and don’t forget your interview at four with the reporter from –”

Doyoung holds up a hand, looking amused. “I’ve got it, don’t worry. Contrary to the general opinion around here, I’m not actually a child.”

“Well,” he says, “that’s the first I’ve heard anything about it.”

Doyoung just laughs. “It looks like you’ve been kicking me into shape, Renjun.”

He doesn’t know why such an innocuous statement makes him blush, but it does. Rubbing his neck, he totters back to his laptop. “I’m just gonna – yeah.”

They work in awkward silence until Doyoung heads off to his meeting. The moment the door closes Renjun slumps over the desk, headache bleating at him, and groans.

Try as he might, he just can’t stop thinking about Jeno’s birthday.

*

“So, like, can I ask you a question?”

From the question itself and the way that Jeno can’t quite meet his eyes Renjun already knows he’s not going to like it. So he fixes Jeno with his most level look and says, “You already did.”

Jeno waves him away, glancing around their usual table in their favourite coffee shop. Renjun still hasn’t quite got used to being able to afford to just go for coffee without Jeno paying for him. His mind strays to his apartment and the grungy, run down complex he lives in in a part of town Jeno’s probably never stepped foot in before, and he wonders if this is where he finally has to talk about his situation. Shoulders squaring, he braces himself for what’s about to come.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but do you maybe have a thing going on with Doyoung that I should know about?”

It’s so far from what he’s expecting that he misses his swallow and chokes, spluttering around hot coffee. Jeno leaps up to thump his back until he can wheeze out breaths, his eyes streaming, and then drops back into his seat with his head in his hands, looking even more miserable than before.

“Me and Doyoung?” he grits out.

“Yeah, you know. You two were looking a bit, I don’t know, _cozy_ at my birthday.”

“We weren’t cozy!”

The hint of a smile twitches on his lips despite his downtrodden posture. “There was definitely a bit of grinding on the dance floor, Renjun.”

He’s pretty sure his face is on fire, burying it in the cradle of his hands. “I wasn’t _grinding_ ,” he moans, muffled through his fingers. “Was I?”

“A little bit, bud. Sorry.”

Renjun moans again.

“How do you think I feel? I had to witness it with my own two eyes.”

Renjun looks up, glaring. “I’m not fucking my boss, Jeno. I’m not that stupid.”

“I never said you were.” Jeno’s expression turns gentle. “I know how much this job means to you. I know you’ve been through a lot –” Renjun tries not to twitch but it’s a near thing “– which is why I would never judge. I just thought, well, I’ve never really seen you like that with anyone else.”

“Oh god,” he says as a thought occurs to him. “Is that why Donghyuck keeps waggling his brows at me in the morning?”

Jeno snorts. “Probably.”

“Fuck my life.”

There’s a long period of silence, filled with the background chatter of the coffee shop and the hiss of the machines behind the counter, the rich aroma of it permeating the air. Renjun is scrambling for some topic to switch onto but his mind won’t lift itself from Doyoung under the flashing lights of the bar. How the man makes him laugh with his muttered comments about their stakeholders as he sits in forced executive meetings. The way they can sit together for hours in Doyoung’s office, simply typing away in one another’s presence, and before he’ll know it the day will have passed. All in all, it’s not a terrible existence, as far as corporate hell goes.

Renjun’s pretty sure that’s all down to Doyoung being a decent boss.

“So?”

“So?”

“So do you like him?”

Renjun grimaces, sinking into his seat. “It’s not like that.”

“Not like what?”

“It’s not a weird sex thing like you’re making it sound. It’s just when I started I knew how much I didn’t fit into that building. No, don’t say anything – even you know it’s true. I felt so out of place and wasn’t sure if I could even last in there but Doyoung… he makes it bearable, I suppose? He actually listens to what I have to say and he doesn’t take himself too seriously, considering who he is and where’s got to. Even if we bicker all the time I feel like he actually sees me, you know? I’m not used to that kind of thing, especially not from anyone like him. And he’s so smart that it’s frightening. The way he just comes up with ideas on the fly.” Renjun shakes his head.

By the time he’s finished he finds Jeno leaning on his hand, expression vaguely smug. Renjun feels the urge to throw his coffee in his face.

“As much as it pains me to know this, you’re so into him.”

The words feel like a damnation, leaving Renjun reeling even as he tries to protest.

*

Renjun glances at the clock. It’s approaching eight and the sky beyond the window is inky dark, streaked with the reflection of the overhead lights of Doyoung’s office. Across the table he can hear the clack-clack-clack of Doyoung’s hands flying across his keyboard. In the distance the lights of Seoul’s business district twinkle and shine like a neon starscape, blurred by the film over his eyes from staring at his screen for so long. He blinks, feeling faintly disconnected from the world around him.

“Doyoung, you’ve been here for thirteen hours.”

He thinks he gets a grunt of acknowledgement.

Sighing, he stands up only for his legs to nearly buckle with the stiffness. There’s no chance he’ll be able to shift Doyoung from his desk until he finishes the analysis on his report. It has to be presented to the board tomorrow for approval or he’ll miss the funding that’s been ring-fenced for the specific project from their Japanese investors. They can’t miss this opportunity, or the project might get postponed for the next year, and by then it might be past the point where it can be picked up again. Not to mention that they still need to go out to consultation to inform the final design, which they can’t do if they don’t get approval.

Renjun can understand why Doyoung is so stressed. Even so, he feels like he has melted into his chair, his joints creaking in ways he’s pretty sure they shouldn’t be at his age. His stomach rumbles, prompting him to pick up his jacket and head out. Doyoung doesn’t even look up.

Outside the air is cool, soothing against his sweaty skin. Renjun breathes it in, knowing it is probably full of pollution but not caring when it feels fresh, tipping his face to the black sky illuminated around him. This part of Seoul is so shiny, like he has stepped right into his TV to where the glamorous actors of the dramas live with their fine clothes and massive homes that could fit his entire apartment into one room.

Everywhere around him the city buzzes, headlights of cars ebbing and flowing like the natural current of the tide. A young couple step out from a shiny black sedan, the man’s watch flashing in the billboard lights as he puts up an umbrella and loops his arm for his girlfriend to take, her heels clacking against the pavement. The rain is so light Renjun barely notices but it’s picking up as he walks, the windows fogging up on the bus that passes. Someone has scribbled a sad face, the amber traffic lights shining through.

Weaving his way through a crowd he’s sure he doesn’t really belong in, he ducks into one of the first places he sees – a tiny BBQ place beneath another office building with some youngsters gathered around a table beneath the awning with their beers piled high – and rubs his hands to gather warmth as he enters. The ahjussi that greets him is kind and doesn’t mind him waiting for the food to cook before packing it into a plastic bag for him.

By the time he leaves the rain is pouring down, and without an umbrella all he can do is put his hood up and dash. Water splashes across his trousers and he curses. He only has a few pairs so he usually needs to wear them more than once in the week before he washes them at the weekend but these are his favourite and they’re going to be out of commission. Through the thin fabric of his coat he can feel the rainwater seep, shivering as it runs down his neck and soaks his shirt.

The lights of NCT morph and blend against the pavement as he dashes into the building, nodding to the night guard in the lobby. At this time of night Donghyuck is long gone, probably out with his friends, or maybe tucked up nice and cozy in his home. Renjun feels a pit of envy deep in his stomach but he’s not sure if part of that’s the gnawing hunger that has crept over him, coaxed by the delicious aroma of the food he carts up to the top floor.

His shoes squeak against the pristine floor but he enters Doyoung’s office without shame. This time Doyoung does look up, his dark, swollen eyes widening in surprise. “Where did you go? You’re soaked.”

Renjun holds up the bag and Doyoung’s eyes soften. “You didn’t have to. We could have ordered from the desk.” For the first time all day his hands leave his keyboard and he stands. Renjun stops where he is, the desk between them like the yawning gulf carved out of the differences between them. In the ensuing silence Renjun wonders if he knows. If, for all his intelligence, he could ever wrap his mind around how alien Doyoung’s normal is for Renjun.

The overhead lights hum. Renjun’s not sure if he’s drawing breath, unable to look away from Doyoung standing there, engulfed by the stark, clinical lines of his office, the blinding white of the walls contrasted against the pitch black of night beyond the window and the inkspill of his hair, flat and oily because he probably hasn’t showered.

Eventually something snaps. He’s not sure who moves first but Renjun drops the bag on the desk and mumbles something about not making others trek up to the top floor. Doyoung turns away, rummaging in his drawers, and then reappears with a towel which he drops over Renjun’s head. Renjun blinks, startled.

“Why do you have a –”

“Please. I’ve stayed here more than once. There’s a shower in Taeyong’s office if you need it.”

Renjun snorts. Sit at the desk. “Of course there is.”

Doyoung begins to unpack the boxes of food and hums. “This smells so good. You’re a lifesaver.”

Renjun ducks his head, hating how warmth blooms in his chest at the words. “It’s just food.”

“Well I’m starving. Come on, tuck in.” Doyoung hands him chopsticks, fussing over him the way he fusses over his project teams. “Here, try some of this.”

They chew quietly over Doyoung’s desk, the mess of papers briefly pushed to the side as they focus on simply meeting their bodies’ needs. It’s a strange sensation, to be shovelling food into his mouth across from his boss, the two of them surrounded by work, and yet he doesn’t resent the situation as much as he thinks he should. He feels weirdly included in this process, in this thing that Doyoung’s so committed to, like he’s become one of his many disciples hanging on his every word. He can’t tell if it’s the greasy food or unease at the realisation that makes his stomach churn.

Renjun doesn’t need to become another cliché, but he thinks he might be teetering on that edge, as his fingers brush Doyoung’s on his way to the dipping sauce and feels his stomach flutter. Suddenly he’s not hungry anymore. The exhaustion is creeping up on him, eyes bleary and sore. He fights back a yawn.

“I shouldn’t have kept you here this long,” Doyoung says eventually. “You look exhausted.”

“So do you.”

Doyoung waves him away. “It’s my report.”

“I can’t leave until I check it for you. At this time of night you’re going to need a sense check.”

Doyoung fixes him with a look that reminds him all too much of that first day and he tries not to squirm. “You don’t have to be this committed, you know. I don’t think I know anyone with your work drive that doesn’t have an office on this floor.”

Something in him twists. “Just because I’m not earning a executive’s salary doesn’t mean I can’t take pride in my work.”

“I didn’t mean –”

“I know you didn’t but you still said it.”

“I’m sorry.”

He’s not sure which of them is more frustrated. “Look, it’s late and we’re both getting irritable. You finish your report while I clear this up and then we can both go home to our beds.”

Doyoung smiles his half-smile and Renjun nearly flinches at how it makes him feel like he’s earned something. He skitters out the door with the plastic cartons, relieved for the moment of space. As he takes his time binning it he considers this new situation he’s finding himself in, emotions so easily shifted by something as simple as Doyoung’s smile.

When he returns Doyoung is pacing his office but he jerks to a halt at the sight of Renjun, looking wide eyed and wired. If he didn’t know any better he would say he was high, but he knows Doyoung would never touch drugs.

“It’s done,” he whispers. He twiddles his long fingers as he offers his chair to Renjun, who’s almost amused by his fretting.

The next hour passes with him scanning the screen line by line, wincing at an odd turn of phrasing here, or correcting formatting here. “I’m not sure this bit makes sense. You’re going to need to summarise that for anyone who isn’t knee deep in this project and doesn’t have a PhD in engineering,” he says, to Doyoung’s look of horror.

By the time they finally finish the clock tells him that it’s nearly eleven o’clock. He can’t even ask to come in late to make up for it; they both have the board meeting early the next morning. His yearning for bed is so great he can almost feel himself sliding between the sheets, eyes fluttering. “If that’s everything, I’m just going to –”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Come on, I’ll take you home.”

Suddenly he’s wide awake, cold as if he’s been doused with ice water. “No, no that’s okay. I’ll get the bus I always get the bus –”

“Renjun, I can’t make you stay to this hour and then expect you to get home at this time of night. Seoul can be dangerous at this time of night.”

“It’s out of your way. Really, just drop me off at the subway station and I can just –”

“I don’t mind.” Doyoung levels him with a look he can’t argue against. “And this time I’m not taking no for an answer.”

They ride the lift in silence down to the sub-ground level, below the lobby. This is where the company’s executives park their sleek, shiny cars that if he were to look up the price of would make his eyes water. As it is, he slides into the smooth leather seats of Doyoung’s car with slick palms, too panicked to even notice what it looks like. If Doyoung sees where he lives – if he sees the miserable hovel of a complex he lives in – Renjun doesn’t think he’ll ever live down the shame.

“Where am I going to?”

Renjun mumbles out his address, sinking further into his seat as Doyoung pulls out of the car park and joins the steady hum of Seoul traffic, lights shining all around them. The radio plays a soft, mournful tune that casts him out adrift, caught in the tumult of all his conflicting emotions. Part of him longs to reach out, to snatch some shallow conversation just to taste the tequila burn of Doyoung’s humour and the butcher’s knife of his confidence, like a moth batting himself against a lamp. The other part of him shrinks in like a hedgehog displaying its spikes, prickly and crotchety and unwilling to let himself be lured into this trap he has walked into with wide eyes. He’s better than this. Better than worrying about what someone like Doyoung thinks of him. But by god does he care.

“Hey, you alright? You’ve not fallen asleep on me, have you?”

“Mm. Not yet.”

Doyoung makes a hum in the back of his throat. When Renjun spares a glance at him the amber streetlights sway over his features, gold and orange and blue until he’s some abstract painting cast into living form. Something far away and gilded, put behind a barrier that Renjun can’t cross. When he pulls up by the concrete block of his apartment complex, Renjun almost misses it, too busy staring at Doyoung’s face.

“This is where you live?”

He flinches. Braces himself for the condescension. The pity. He’s not sure what’s worse.

“Will you be okay here tonight?”

Renjun forces himself to square his shoulders. Raises a brow. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“This isn’t a great neighbourhood.”

“We can’t all live in glass towers like you, you know.”

Before Doyoung can say anything he’s opening the door and running out, ignoring the voice calling out his name. He runs in and up the flights and flights of stairs because his lift is broken, the lights flickering above him, gasping for breath as tears stream down his face. It hurts and he doesn’t even know why. It’s just too much. The contrast between his working world and his personal one is too stark, the four walls of his apartment pressing tight where the open space of NCT headquarters sprawl away from him.

He curls up in his bed that night and hugs his pillow as he cries and cries. That night he dreams about Doyoung walking by him in the street, as if they’d never met. As if Renjun were nothing.

*

Renjun is glad when the board meeting finally finishes, slinking from the room and retreating back to Doyoung’s office while the man in question lingers to talk to Ten. He breathes a sigh of relief to be away from all those eyes, his weariness catching up to him. He doesn’t know when Doyoung’s office stopped being a dreaded confinement with the man and started becoming a quiet kind of sanctuary amidst the hectic schedule he keeps.

The door opens and Doyoung bursts through, grin wide and eyes bright despite the obvious signs of exhaustion. “It got approved! We got approved!”

The next thing he knows he’s being hauled up into the air and spun around, the room flashing by in streaks of white and grey. His muffled cries are lost to the motions of being swung around, so disoriented he wobbles when Doyoung puts him back on the ground and steps back with an apologetic smile. There aren’t words for the warmth that floods him at the use of _we_.

“Thanks for your help yesterday,” he says, ruffling his hair. Renjun blinks, bewildered, and pats his hair down furiously. “You really helped me out.”

“I was just doing my job.”

Doyoung shakes his head, leaning back against his desk. “That was a lot more than just your job. Really, I appreciate it. Feel free to take the rest of the day off. You’ve earned it.”

Renjun squirms, resisting the urge to look around himself. When he was working two to three jobs at a time, he used to dream about his boss saying those words to him. As it is now he feels uncomfortable about actually carrying that out – like he shouldn’t be skipping off when there’s no emergency because what happens when one actually does crop up and he really needs that day off. Not to mention, he has no idea what he would actually do with a day off, except maybe crash on his sofa and sleep, and that doesn’t really seem worth it.

“We need to talk anyway,” Doyoung ploughs on, making his heart skip a beat. “I was going to wait until later but we might as well discuss it now.”

Doyoung’s going to say that he doesn’t need an assistant anymore. How now that Renjun has sorted out his calendar and his inbox and organised the communications between him and his teams that he has a handle on his affairs. How Renjun has done his best, but that he doesn’t really fit in here. He ducks his head, fists clenched at his sides. No matter how much he has tried to make himself indispensable, he has always known somewhere deep down that he could never hold onto a job like this.

“So I spoke to Irene about getting you a pay rise. I’m sorry it completely slipped my notice, but we started you on a probationary salary until we were sure you would be a good fit. But you’ve proven yourself a thousand times over, Renjun, and I told her that I was determined I didn’t lose you, so it was only appropriate that we pay you the kind of wage that an executive’s assistant deserves. You should check your new payslip when HR issues it.”

Renjun gapes at him, struggling to summon words.

“Since you’re apparently speechless,” Doyoung continues with a smirk, “I also wanted to bring up another thing. There is an option, if you wanted, to go back to college a day a week. We’re a sponsor of various university programmes specialising in business and technology, and if you wanted, I could spare you a day to put you through some further education. I’ve emailed you a link to the current programmes you can enroll for.”

“Doyoung…” he tries, feeling almost breathless, “I don’t want you to do this just because you saw…” He frowns, waving his hand as if it can replace the words he can’t find. “Well, you know. I don’t live in a nice part of town. I’ve never been able to afford nice things. Until I got this job I could barely afford _rent._ ”

“You can now,” says Doyoung. “You can afford a better place. Somewhere safer than there.”

Renjun’s frown deepens. He doesn’t even know where to begin in sorting through the maelstrom of the emotions swirling inside him. “You don’t need to do that. No,” he holds up a hand. “Really, you don’t. I appreciate it, I really do.” He’s struggling not to snap, suddenly feeling cornered like a frightened animal. Doyoung only thinks he’s doing good but he doesn’t _understand._ Not really.

“What’s wrong? What did I do?”

“I’m not here to be pitied. I’m an employee, just doing the job that I’m paid to do, and that doesn’t change just because I’m poor.”

Doyoung looks startled. “It’s not pity, Renjun. I meant what I said. You’re invaluable. I would never have got that report through the board if it wasn’t for you. Heck, I’m not sure if I’d still be alive if you hadn’t sorted out the management of my calendar. I rely on you. You deserve that respect because you’ve earned it.”

Renjun’s hands find their way into fists. “I just – I just need this to be about the job, okay? It can’t be about – about what you saw. I can’t be indebted to you, I’m not that –”

“Whoa, whoa.” Doyoung raises his palms. “I’m not trying to make you indebted to me. Renjun. _Renjun._ ” He forces his eyes up, resisting cringing back at the way Doyoung’s brows furrow, the pity he sees in his eyes. “I don’t want you to think that way of me. You know me. I’m not a bleeding heart.”

“You are a little.”

“I am not!”

Some of the tension that has been building breaks and they laugh awkwardly.

“Listen. Take the day off and get some rest. Take the pay rise – I mean it when I say you’ve earned it. Forget about the rest if you want. The offer’s on the table but I’m not going to force you into anything.”

“I…” He meets Doyoung’s eyes again, stomach flipping. He knows how ungrateful he must sound. How anyone in his situation would be kissing Doyoung’s feet for such an offering. But he just can’t shake the sense that this was all brought on by Doyoung dropping him off at his apartment complex. At seeing what he truly lived in. He hates the thought that he’s something lesser because of it. That it defines him more than his hard work and his good time management and his ability to speak normally to executives with inflated egos.

“I’m going to go,” he croaks out finally.

Doyoung nods, too understanding. “Go on. I’m sure I can hold the fort for a day without you.”

“Don’t forget your –”

“Investment meeting?” He taps his temple. “I’m on it. Now shoo. Go. Get some sleep. You look like death warmed up.”

So Renjun goes and doesn’t look back.

*

“Wait, I don’t get it. He gave you a pay rise and you’re… complaining?” Jeno wrinkles his nose.

Renjun scrunches his face, swirling his coffee. Just because he could, he had ordered himself something frothy and expensive, but he’s not sure it can really be called coffee when all he can taste is the sweetness. “It’s not that. It’s just. It all came out of him seeing where I live, you know? I saw how he looked. Like he didn’t want to leave me there because he thought I couldn’t possibly survive it another day. Like I was, I don’t know, some pitiful creature the way you see those dog shelter ads on TV.”

Jeno seems to think about this for a moment, leaning on his hand so that his fancy watch shines. “I get where you’re coming from and I understand why you feel that way.” At his look he raises a placating hand. “I mean, as much as I can. But, really, Doyoung’s not the type for pity like that? He’s so wrapped up in his own world he doesn’t tend to notice much, but if he takes a liking to you then he lets it show.”

Renjun takes another sip of his coffee and grimaces. “I just can’t shake the feeling that I’m, like, I don’t know, a way to alleviate his rich guilt? There’s more than just me suffering out there. He can’t just give me a higher salary and magically be absolved.” He shifts in his seat, wondering if he’s said too much. Wondering if Jeno thinks he’s whining over nothing.

But Jeno’s gaze softens. “Hey. _Hey._ I’m not saying your feelings are coming from nowhere. I’m just saying, give him a chance. And if you want to make things better then you’re in the best place. You have the ear of an important executive of the country’s biggest technology company.”

“So I’m not being a sellout?”

Jeno shrugs with a laugh, leaning back in his seat. “You’re probably asking the wrong person there.”

“Argh, Jeno, why is this so hard? I just wanted a job that would pay my bills. I didn’t ask for all of this.”

His look turns assessing, lips curling in the corner in a way he must have learned from Jaemin. Renjun needs to have words with Jaemin for corrupting his friend.

“What?”

Jeno waggles his brows. “You know what this is about, don’t you?”

Renjun frowns. “Should I?”

“You know, the fact that you’re hot for him but you feel weird about it because he’s helluva rich and you don’t want to be a cliché secretary who’s hot for his boss and only likes him for his money.”

“I don’t only like him for his money – oh stop looking at me like that! I didn’t mean it like that!”

Jeno sniggers into his own cup, shoulders shaking. “Maybe I should invite him out again with us? That little dance the two of you were doing was pretty steamy.”

“It was not! It wasn’t! _Jeno!_ ”

But he can’t deny the flush in his cheeks, or the way that Jeno’s words make things finally click into place. The knot in his stomach only tightens. _I’m not a cliché. I’m not hot for my boss._ The image of Doyoung flits into his mind, all long limbs in his sleek black coat, round frames accentuating his dark lashes and making him even more elegant than he already seems.

He ignores the way the words feel like a lie.

*

“Do you really think they’re going to make the announcement this month?”

Renjun drops into a seat at their usual table by the window of the canteen, the city sprawling out below them. He’s pleased to see that Jungwoo has been joining them more recently, a fourth player to his usual trio with Donghyuck and Yeri.

“What’s this about an announcement?” he says, nodding to Jungwoo.

“You know,” says Yeri, painted nails tapping the side of her coffee, “about Ten and the Weishen merger.”

Renjun frowns. “What?”

Jungwoo turns to look at him. “You must have heard. Come on. You’re with Doyoung nearly every minute of the day. I’m pretty sure even _I’ve_ mentioned it as some point.”

“Doyoung doesn’t care about anything that’s not his projects. He won’t stop talking my ear off about losing Sicheng from his 127 smartphone team, since he’s getting transferred over once the merger is finalised. That’s it. I have nothing to do with Ten and his stuff.”

“You mean you really don’t know?” Donghyuck leans forward as if he’s going to whisper even though his voice is still full volume. “You haven’t heard about Ten being slated for the CEO position of Weishen?”

“Wait, what?” he blurts, earning a few glances from nearby tables. “You’re joking? Who’s going to replace Ten? This place can’t run without him.”

He wonders how Doyoung feels about this. For all their bickering, he knows the pair are close.

Yeri looks positively gleeful as she leans over Donghyuck. “That’s just the thing. No one knows who’s going to fill the position but there are a few rumoured candidates that have been passed around the grapevine.”

Jungwoo nods. “Number one being none other than Mark Lee himself.”

“Mark? Taeyong’s brother?” Renjun has no idea why he’s surprised but somehow he is. He turns to Dongyuck. “Your cousin Mark? Straight out of Canadian university and right into Senior Manager Mark?”

Donghyuck shrugs. “Don’t blame me. I’m just the receptionist.”

It had caused quite the stir amongst those in the finance department when Mark had been given his post, the rumble amongst the masses being that he had not earned a position. As a young, green newbie, he had been able to walk right into his post thanks to a family name and the fortune of being able to afford a really good degree. When Renjun had mentioned it in passing to Doyoung he had only wrinkled his nose and shrugged. “Mark’s a good kid. Good head on his shoulders. He’ll make a few mistakes before he finds his feet but he’ll find them soon enough.”

“It’s all anyone talks about these days. Poor Johnny is not pleased that some doe-eyed kid has been propelled to stardom over him.” Yeri looks thoughtful. “It’ll be fun to see his face when the news breaks about a further promotion.”

Donghyuck snorts. “I can’t wait to see Mark fuck this up. He’s so bad at talking to the press it’s laughable.”

“Isn’t he your cousin?” says Jungwoo.

“You try being around your family when half of your cousins are big shiny executives, or at least in university like Jeno. All I ever hear is, ‘why can’t you be more like Mark, Hyuckie? You’re both the same age.’ It gets a little old after a while.”

“Is this even set in stone?” says Renjun. “I mean, this is all gossip.”

All three turn to him and roll their eyes. “Sweet summer child,” says Donghyuck, patting him on the shoulder. “Have you not realised how things work around here yet? The Lee name buys you power. Unless you’re me.”

They all nod along, as if this is gospel. Once again Renjun is left frustrated by the way things work in this world. He tries not to think how different things could have been, had he only been born with a different name. In the end it’s always the same. Money begets money and power begets power.

*

The leather seats of the limo are plush. Renjun fidgets with his bow tie, feeling out of place and he hasn’t even arrived yet. There’s too much room for this to be a real car – almost more room than his apartment – and yet it feels too stuffy. He wants to roll the window down for some air but he doesn’t think he’s allowed.

“Relax,” says Doyoung, languid as he rests against the back of his seat, tapping at his phone. “You’re starting to make me feel nervous.”

Renjun glances up and his gaze catches, unable to look away from the parting of jet black hair against porcelain skin, long dark lashes sweeping over his eyes as he stares at the ambient glow of his phone screen, neon city lights flashing over his cheekbones in cerise and cyan blue. His long legs are splayed out; the posture of a man accustomed to power. His crisp white shirt is tucked neatly into a leather belt with shining buckle, covered by the svelte silhouette of his tuxedo jacket lined with silk, and he looks so excruciating Renjun feels a lump lodge in his throat. He’s as untouchable as a Greek statue in a museum; some piece of fine art that has been crafted by masterful hands, the beauty in his effortlessness. It’s so far above what Renjun can ever hope for, and it hurts.

Renjun rips his gaze away before he can notice him. Maybe Jeno had a little bit of a point, he admits to himself.

“You’re here because you work for me, remember? I need you to remind me of who’s who.”

After the invite Renjun had spent hours with Jungwoo, pouring over profiles of every CEO, entrepreneur, A-lister and journalist that had been invited, ensuring he had every face and name memorised by heart. Doyoung sure as hell wasn’t going to bother with that when he had his shiny new project to keep him burning his candle on both ends, and besides, it was kind of worth it to be invited to something like this. He hadn’t even known what to say when Doyoung had sent him to high-end tailor to get fitted for a tux.

“If you’re representing the company then the company can pay to make sure you look the part,” was all he had said regarding payment.

But now, as the limo rolls up in front of a shining glass hotel where the event is to be hosted, he finds himself shaking. He’s never done something like this. He doesn’t know how to act, or how to hold himself. Worrying himself sick, he’d barely slept the night before, and now it’s quickly catching up to him.

“Hey,” says Doyoung, voice low. Renjun turns. “You look expensive.” Long, pale fingers adjust his bow tie, the ghost of touch at his throat making him shiver. “Let’s show them what we’ve got, eh?”

The next thing he knows he’s stepping out to the flashing lights of cameras like he’s an actor at a movie premiere. Frozen before the reporters, he only remembers to breathe when a solid hand at his back grounds him, Doyoung prodding him forward. “It’s okay,” he says into his ear. “Just keep walking.”

And so the two of them walk up to the fancy glass entrance of the hotel, greeted by neatly dressed staff who direct them to a private lift up to the roof garden. It’s a balmy evening, pleasant as he steps out after Doyoung, and he immediately stops as he sees the brilliant lights of Seoul sparkling all around him. Lanterns have been strung around the wide open space of the roof, people in fancy gowns and sharp suits mingling to the string quartert on a raised dais in the corner. Renjun even glimpses a champagne pyramid, waiters with magic hands lifting glasses to carry on silver trays to mingling guests.

“You know,” he murmurs as an aside, “it’s possible to have too much money.”

Doyoung throws his head back and laughs. “Come on, let’s get us a drink. If I’m going to have to network at this thing I’m going to have to be buzzed.”

No sooner than he has plucked two glass from the tower to pass to Renjun he ends up getting waylaid by some businessman wanting to talk about his latest project. Sensing he’s only getting in the way, Renjun is relieved to slip away towards the place by the wall where the crowd has thinned out, sipping at champagne that probably costs as much as his apartment does, not that he can tell the difference.

“Renjun! Wow, look at you!” Jeno’s eyes crease into crescents as he grins at Renjun, who bats him away with a hand. Yeri appears at his side in a stunning form-fitting red gown with red lips to match. Behind them Donghyuck laughing uproariously enough to catch stray glances, his honey blonde hair styled in soft curls, and Renjun sees that he’s teasing Mark again who smiles through it good-naturedly.

“Hey,” he says, relieved to see familiar faces. “Some event, huh?”

“Free booze,” says Yeri, champagne sloshing in her flute as she shakes it. “What’s not to like?”

Renjun surveys the scene, still at odds with so much finery all around him. He feels like if he takes so much as a wrong step he’ll draw attention to himself, show himself up as an imposter. His collar itches but he resists tugging at it, too stiff and trussed up in this ridiculous outfit.

“It’s so cute when Mark thinks he can lie to me. Stupid bastard forgets we grew up together.”

“So it’s confirmed then?” he asks. His glass is almost empty already and he can feel the kick of it settling into his veins.

“Pretty much.”

Yeri’s red lips part around blinding white teeth. “This is going to be fun.”

“Hey, Donghyuck,” says Jaemin, materialising from nowhere in a sleek charcoal tuxedo with his silver hair slicked back, “how come your family’s nepotism didn’t extend to you?”

Donghyuck starts and yelps, spilling champagne across his shoes. “Na Jaemin!” he shouts.

Renjun can’t help echoing Jeno’s laughter, shoulders shaking. Trust his friends not to worry about making a scene. He supposes when you’re that rich nothing really stops you from doing anything.

“I’m not working at NCT either, you know,” says Jeno.

Jaemin rolls his eyes. “You’re at university, doofus. Besides, I have no doubt if you showed even a modicum of interest you’d be shot right up to, like, Senior Assistant Manager or some shit.”

“Says the chaebol wearing Chanel.”

Jaemin just shrugs, unconcerned. “You wished you could look this good.”

For a moment Renjun catches Jeno’s gaze linger on Jaemin’s frame, scoffing just a beat too late. “Keep dreaming, Jaemin.”

“Shut up, shut up,” says Yeri, waving her hand, “they’re about to start. Look!”

Sure enough, Taeyong, Doyoung and Taeil are gathered in the centre of the room, the trio resplendent in their silk and velvet finery. They look like three models about to do a photoshoot, rather than the executives of the country’s biggest technology empire.

“We have an announcement to make,” says Taeyong, tapping the mic, the light cutting up the sharp lines of his face. The conversation fades out, heads turning in his direction. “Most of you will be aware why we’re having this celebration. We’re here to celebrate the successful merger of Weishen into the NCT fold. I’d like to welcome all my new Weishen colleagues and bid them a good evening.”

A smattering of applause follows. Doyoung’s eyes shift through the crowd before landing on him. Renjun hears himself gasp. Doyoung tips his glass up subtly at him and he finds himself mirroring the gesture, warmth blooming in his chest.

“I’d also like to announce something I suspect many of you have already figured out by now. Can I call Ten up to the front?”

There’s the rustle of fabric, heads darting around as people shift, and then Ten is stepping through the crowd in a suit of blue velvet, shimmering in the lights from the lanterns. He takes his place beside the other three; the shining beacons of NCT’s top brass. Someone in the crowd whistles.

“As sorry as I’ll be to lose our COO, I am delighted to introduce you to the new CEO of Weishen.” The clapping erupts, whistling and cheers making Ten duck his head in a gesture of faux bashfulness. “So here’s to Ten! Thank you for all your hard work!”

Ten grins wide as he takes the mic from Taeyong, waiting for the applause to fade out before he begins to thank everyone. Renjun is distracted by Donghyuck’s sniggering and follows his gaze to see him making faces at Mark who is trying to stop him from revealing everything to the assorted press within the room. Yeri slips away to murmur into Irene’s ear, Jeno and Jaemin so wrapped up in their own hushed conversation that Renjun suddenly finds himself alone in a crowd of people.

Uncertainty creeping back in, he sidles over to the drinks table to find something stronger when he bumps into a solid form and nearly stumbles until warm hands catch him, followed by a throaty chuckle.

“Steady, there. No need to hurry.”

Renjun looks up and his eyes widen when he finds himself staring at none other than Wong Yukhei, son of Weishen’s former CEO and the soon-to-be new COO. Tall and handsome, with a silver earring dangling from one ear and tawny brown hair artfully tousled, it’s hard to look away from him. Gulping, Renjun tears his gaze back to the drinks table, cheeks flushing.

“I’m not really used to these kinds of things. It helps if I have something to drink.”

“Don’t let me stop you, then.”

So Renjun doesn’t, snooping around the bar until he finds a bottle of what looks to be some very expensive whisky and plucks it out. He’s not concerned with measures, spilling enough to get him drunk into a glass. Behind him Yukhei whistles.

“What kind of night are you looking to have?” There’s something wicked in the gleam of his smirk.

Renjun takes a gulp, fighting the need to grimace as it burns. “A quick one.”

Yukhei laughs. “Alright, let me join you.” He takes the bottle and pours his own generous glass, holding it up. After a moment’s hesitation Renjun clinks them together, taking another drink for want of something to say. Nerves curl in his gut. He has no idea what to talk to someone like Yukhei about.

“If you’re put off by the crowds, there’s a quiet space around the corner.”

Everything beneath the pleasant buzz of the alcohol tells him he should not be following along, but Renjun has already had enough to switch off his usual inhibitions. It burns along with his nerves, sizzling in his stomach and leaving him untethered, drifting along until he comes to a pleasant alcove sheltered from prying eyes. Leaving enough space between them, he rests his arms on the glass bannister and stares out at the sprawl of Seoul in front of him. He never dreamed he would have access to sites like this.

“I don’t think I got your name before,” says Yukhei, dark gaze fixed on him in a way that makes him leery. It’s almost flattering, except for the fact that men like Yukhei do not flirt with people like Renjun.

“Huang Renjun.”

“Wong Yukhei.”

He nods, not letting on that he knows fine well who he is.

“Do you work for NCT, Renjun?”

He nods, downing more of his whisky.

“And you like it?”

He considers for a moment, before nodding. It’s tiring, and the hours are usually long, but it’s rewarding. In the months he’s worked for Doyoung he’s learned a lot about the inner workings of the business, and made some genuine friends. Not to mention he’s nearly at the point where he can start looking for a better apartment, somewhere a little nicer than the dump he lives now.

“That’s good. I find you can always tell a lot about a company by how it treats it’s ordinary employees.”

“Are you nervous about taking over from your father?”

Yukhei’s smile spreads across his face like the liquor curling through Renjun’s stomach, slow and heady. “So you do know who I am?” He leans in, aftershave rich and smoky. “Should I be flattered that you know me?”

“I…” he takes a step back, gulping. Traitorous heat coils in his gut, unable to be anything but be gratified by such attention. Yet he’s not sure he really wants it. Knows this isn’t anything genuine. That’s he’s just trifle amusement for someone like Yukhei.

“You have such pretty eyes,” Yukhei says in a low voice, hand creeping across the glass bannister towards his hand. “I couldn’t stop watching you.”

“I don’t –” Renjun takes a step back, sweat beading on the back of his neck. “Really –”

“Your Korean is really good. I almost didn’t realise you were Chinese. I could really use someone with your skills at my side.”

Renjun swallows as fingers crawl their way up the arm of his jacket, Yukhei bending over into his space. He wants to break away. Wants a breath of air. But he’s frozen, unable to move, mumbling words beneath his breath that fall away between them. He shouldn’t be here. He needs to leave. A flicker of anger strikes through the haze of fear and lust, that he should be reduced to nothing but a plaything between the rich.

“You know, I would be sure to treat you right.” His thumb strokes at his neck, making him shudder.

“I really don’t –” he shuffles backwards.

“Where did Doyoung even find something like you, hm? I bet he –”

A throat clearing makes Renjun jump so hard he sloshes whiskey onto the floor. Heart hammering, he turns to see Doyoung standing behind them with his hands in his pockets, expression thunderous. Yukhei stiffens, retreating from him, the smile on his face polite but awkward.

“Ten has been looking for you.” says Doyoung darkly. “I suggest you leave my assistant alone, Yukhei.”

Yukhei huffs a laugh. “Always so protective, huh?” As he passes he leans in once more. “It was nice to meet you, Renjun,” he breathes, and then he’s walking away.

“And Yukhei,” says Doyoung, causing him to pause with his back turned to them. “If you ever touch Renjun again without his permission I will ensure you never work in this country ever again.”

Yukhei just waves, stalking off with his usual confident gait. Doyoung steps up to the balcony to fill the space he left, keeping enough distance between them that Renjun doesn’t feel crowded in. To his surprise he doesn’t speak for a while, the distant lament of the violin filling the silence between them. Renjun turns and stares out at the distant stream of cars through the network of Seoul’s roads, lights rolling away from him like a thousand distant stars.

“Was he bothering you?” Doyoung says finally. Quietly. “Did I interpret that wrong?”

Renjun utters a noise from the back of his throat when he turns to stare at him, Doyoung’s gaze strong enough to strip him bare. He licks his lip and draws a breath. “I just wanted to get away from the crowd. I didn’t think –” he turns away. Huffs a laugh. “I guess I’m still just a game to you people, huh?”

“No.”

It’s said so quickly it gives him pause. “Huh?”

“Not to me you’re not.” Doyoung’s gaze is serious. Sincere. “Maybe I wasn’t the best when you first started but I – I know your worth, Renjun. I value you very much. As an employee and –” he gulps “– and more.”

“Oh.”

Doyoung takes a step closer and his heart picks up speed. His dark lashes fan out over his cheeks as his eyes lower, leaning in. It’s at this point that he smells the alcohol on his breath; realises that the pair of them are made bolder with it. Renjun inches towards him, eternally trapped within the pressure of his gravity. He tips his face up, scarcely daring to believe what is happening.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

This time it’s not the alcohol that’s burning up inside him. He shivers, leaning towards him to inhale the scent of spice and soap. Fuck it, he’s tired of being the meek and mild assistant. He’s tired of always trying to shrink, trying to apologise for who he is and what he comes from. Tired of always denying himself what he could never afford.

“Yes,” he says. “I would.”

*

True to form, Doyoung lives in a penthouse at the top of some towering glass complex, one wall an entire panorama of Seoul in all her glittering glory. Renjun pads across the cast light from the window, reverent as his socks slide over genuine wooden floors, polished to perfection.

“Do you, ah, want something to drink?”

If he knew any better he would have said Doyoung was nervous.

“No, thank you.” He turns, tilts his head. Tugs off his bow tie. Across the way at the open plan kitchen Doyoung swallows. The silence is so heavy it nearly smothers him.

Had he had less to drink, Renjun doesn’t think he would be able to unbutton his shirt like he does, one by one like he’s putting on a show. He doubts he would be as careless about sliding such an expensive jacket off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor in a rustle of silk. Cool air hits his exposed skin and shivers, goosebumps racing down his arms.

Doyoung tilts his head, rakes his gaze over him in a way that almost makes him want to cover himself. Instead he gives into the moment, biting his lip as he plays with his open shirt. Each slow step Doyoung takes towards him feels endless, like he’s been waiting an eternity for this.

Soon they’re close enough to share breath, Doyoung’s own ghosting over his as he tilts his head, simply observing. It’s the languidness of his gestures; the delay of all touch that builds up anticipation until Renjun’s skin thrums. He’s so sensitive to Doyoung’s every shift of weight that it’s almost painful, the rustle of his shirt deafening as they simply stand there.

It’s a piece of his slicked back hair falling over his forehead that undoes him. Renjun reaches up to tuck it behind his hear and he hears Doyoung’s breath hitch, his hand wrapping around his wrist. For a moment they still, nothing but the static hum of kitchen appliances and their mingling breaths. Renjun’s throat is dry, the words he wants to say cracking in his throat.

Doyoung’s hand slides from his wrist down to his elbow, giving it a light squeeze. Licking his lips, his gaze flickers across Renjun’s face, his voice gravelly when he finally speaks. “Do you want this, Renjun?”

_Do you want me?_

Renjun is so tense he’s practically vibrating. Fuck it, he thinks for the second time that night, and maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the desperation, but he slips a hand around the back of Doyoung’s neck and tugs him down until their lips crash together. A muffled sound escapes Doyoung’s mouth as they collide.

It’s like a switch has been flipped. Suddenly they’re gripping at one another, Doyoung pushing him until his back hits the wall, a thigh nudging his own apart and pressing against his growing arousal. Hands are slipping past his open shirt, gripping his waist and roaming the slim line of his back. He can hardly think for want, gasping into Doyoung’s mouth as he bites and nibbles at his lip. Each kiss is wet and hot and messy, dizzying Renjun with the force of them. Saliva strings between them as Doyoung tips his head back.

“How do you want to do this?” he asks, a hand straying to his erection.

Renjun stifles a groan into Doyoung’s shoulder. “I don’t care as long as you wear less clothes.”

Doyoung’s smirk as he pulls back is lethal, eyes alight as he plucks at the buttons of his shirt and shucks it off, revealing the lean lines of his abdomen and chest, lightly muscled and skin luminous in the washed out blues beyond the window. His fingers work his belt from its buckle, drawing Renjun to them. He gulps, unable to look away. Doyoung’s gaze catches on his and his smirk grows, causing heat to unfurl within his gut.

“What are you thinking about?”

“You,” he blurts. Then, because he’s already done it. “Your hands. Your fingers. On me. In me.”

Doyoung’s look turns heavy-lidded. Heady. Suddenly his hands slide beneath the backs of his thighs and then he’s being hauled up into Doyoung’s arms, the two of them pressed together skin to skin. Renjun blinks, too warm, and his vision spins as he finds himself being carried through to another room too dark to see properly, but for the light spilling through the open door from the cityscape beyond.

On Doyoung’s plush sheets Doyoung works those long fingers into him, dark eyes watching his every reaction as he tugs and teases him apart with the finesse of a pianist at the keys. Renjun whines and groans, back arching as heat engulfs him, trying to wriggle away from the pressure, towards it. He doesn’t know. His eyes crack open half-mast as he huffs, thighs shaking when Doyoung’s other hand strokes his cock. It's too much. He's burning up. The ragged sounds that fall past his lips should embarrass him, but he's too far gone to care.

“Come for me, Renjun.”

And just like that he crashes over, body collapsing as he rides the wave of pleasure and spills into Doyoung’s hand. A whimper leaves him as Doyoung takes his slick hand to his mouth and licks between his fingers without ever breaking his gaze and Renjun thinks he might just be working for the devil. Slumped against the silken pillows of Doyoung’s bed, he reaches out without thinking, not having enough time to regret his actions when Doyoung crawls up and moulds himself to Renjun, tongue licking into his mouth.

Already arousal is winding him up again, his thighs bracketing Doyoung’s hips. “Please,” he breathes between kisses. “Doyoung, please.”

Doyoung pants into his mouth, his own erection hard against his abdomen. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

The words, hot in his ear, send a jolt through him. His grip tightens across Doyoung’s back, feeling muscle shift and ripple. “Want you. _Please._ ”

Doyoung’s lips are red, his hair mussed over his forehead, and his pupils are blown wide. He looks wrecked. A hand strokes through Renjun’s hair, surprisingly gentle considering how he was practically mauling him only moments ago. Then with another intense kiss, Doyoung reaches across him to the night stand. Renjun hears the snick of the drawer, the click of a bottle cap, and then glimpses the shimmer of a condom packet as it catches the light from outside.

“You’re amazing. Just look at you.”

Doyoung’s heated gaze threatens to ignite him and there’s nothing Renjun wants to do more than catch fire.

*

“Where did you go?” Jeno asks later. “I didn’t even see you leave.”

“Uh, um. Just left, I guess.”

Jeno narrows his eyes. “Did I see you cozying up to Yukhei?”

Renjun flushes, even if Jeno is off the mark. “No. He just got a little friendly.”

“Friendly.”

“He was just messing with me.”

“Uh huh. And then you just, what, left and went home?”

Renjun shrugs but even he knows it’s stiff. “I was tired. You know me, I don’t really like these things.”

“It’s funny,” says Jeno too casually, sipping at his coffee, “because Doyoung left too. Ten was trying for ages to find him.”

He masks his wheeze with a cough, resolutely ignoring Jeno’s probing gaze. “I mean, I don’t know about that. He was probably just trying to avoid the press. You know how he is.”

“Mm.”

Renjun can tell with a sense of foreboding that Jeno is not entirely convinced. Once again he finds himself lamenting the fact that his closest friend is equally close to his boss. The boss that he just slept with the night before. He takes a massive gulp of his coffee and shifts the topic, trying not to squirm.

*

Renjun spends Sunday night worrying himself into a stupor about the following day, running through every scenario in his mind. The one he falls back onto the most is the inevitable: he’s going to have to leave. He slept with his boss. It’s going to change their relationship regardless of what happens, probably for the awkward. He’s pretty sure it’s against company policy and if anyone finds out then he’s sure he can get fired.

After a restless night of tossing and turning, he cracks his eyes open to the morning light streaming in through his curtains and hisses, burrowing back down into his pillows. His head spins and he feels faint, his throat rough like someone took sandpaper to its insides. It’s the sneeze that shakes the sense into him, and he lies back with a groan. He’s sick. He feels awful, his nose is running, and Doyoung is going to think he’s making it up because he’s too embarrassed to deal with what happened.

Renjun isn’t sure that would be a wrong assumption.

Firing off an email to let Doyoung know, he pries himself out of bed to heat the kettle, shivering as the cool air hits his skin. His body aches, and he feels exhausted. It’s almost a relief, to have an excuse to put off facing Doyoung right away, the kettle rumbling as he digs in the cupboard for his hot water bottle. He doesn’t even bother waiting to see if he has a reply before he’s bundling himself back into bed, clutching tight at the hot water bottle to ease the shivering ache within.

It’s a miserable day that he spends in and out of sleep, head foggy and his chest sore, thoughts of work far, far from his mind.

*

By Thursday Renjun is starting to feel better, emerging from his cocoon to attempt at actually cooking something. The worst of his shivers have gone but his cough remains, a horrible hacking sound that reverberates in his chest and burns his throat. It’s just a relief to be able to stand without feeling like he’s about to collapse, finding enough strength to heat some soup on the stove.

A knock at the door startles him and he nearly tips the boiling contents of the pot all over him. He glances around, hesitant. No one ever visits him. If it’s one of those salesmen again he’d rather not answer. Or worse yet, one of those evangelicals trying to convert him into some cult even as he insists that, no, he has no time for the lord and saviour today.

Just as he’s putting the pot onto simmer the knock thumps again, making his heart race. Suddenly his phone starts to ring and he stumbles over to his bed to pick it up, gulping when he sees the name. Sniffling, he slides to answer and croaks out a, “Hey.”

“Open the door, Renjun.”

His eyes widen and he swears his heart stops beating. “I’m –”

“Let me in. Come on.”

On legs that wobble like a newborn deer, he scrambles to the door, unlatches the locks and wrenches it open to see Doyoung standing at the entrance, incongruously styled in contrast to the dim, grimy corridor outside. He hesitates there with his phone still to his ear, staring at Doyoung like he can’t believe he’s actually standing there. Maybe he’s still ill if he’s starting to hallucinate. Maybe he’s just had way too much time to think about everything that has happened, turning it over and over in his mind until it’s driven him mad.

Renjun steps back and then sneezes into the crook of his elbow.

“Oh,” says Doyoung. “You actually are ill.”

He arches a brow as he lets him into his apartment, trying to fight the instinct to cringe at letting him see the shoebox he lives in. “You thought I was lying?”

“No, I just wanted to –” at his look Doyoung’s shoulders slump and he sighs. “Yeah, maybe. I thought you didn’t want to see me after – well I wouldn’t have blamed you.”

Unsure what to do, he gestures to the stove, the smell of leek and potato filling the space of his apartment. “Soup?” he asks.

Doyoung looks as disoriented as Renjun feels, glancing around. “No, uh, I’m fine.”

“Sit,” he says, gesturing to the mismatching chairs by the window, the table a hand-me-down from when Jaemin redecorated his own place. He takes his soup over, steam wafting up between them as they sit. Doyoung almost seems to dwarf the room, saturated in a space of gloomy greys and browns.

“How are you feeling?” he says, eyes soft.

“Getting better,” Renjun replies, his cough betraying him. He spoons soup into his mouth to keep his hands occupied. “I think you gave me the flu.”

Doyoung squawks, indignant. “I’ve been fine, thank you very much. I think I should be concerned about you, out there kissing other boys.”

Renjun snorts. “No boys. Just you.”

“Oh.” Doyoung’s smile slides off his face as he regards Renjun. His stomach twists, wondering what he sees. “Well, hm, I just came to tell you to come back to work but now I can see that I might have been a little premature.”

“I haven’t run away. Yet.”

Doyoung nods. “Good. That’s good.”

Renjun leans on his hand, ignoring the way the heat of the soup is making his nose run. It’s almost endearing, to see Doyoung so flustered. He turns to look out the window, sunlight washing over his profile, and Renjun smiles to himself as he simply watches.

“I’ll come back if you’ll still have me.”

Doyoung whips around. “Why wouldn’t I? I can’t function without you.”

Renjun’s smile grows. Somewhere inside him, a knot of tension uncoils. “That little pesky thing they call company policy.”

Doyoung waves him away. “As if that company could run without me. Who I’m fucking is none of their business.”

The crude language inspires flashbacks. Fingers digging into his hips. Heavy-lidded, dark eyes. The sound of Doyoung panting in his ear. Renjun flushes red all the way to the tips of his ears, eyes on his soup. Just when he has managed to _stop_ thinking about it, it hurtles back into him like a freight train.

“Hey, are you okay? You look really red.”

Renjun coughs, waves him away. “Fine. Fine.”

Suddenly Doyoung’s smile turns mischievous. “What were you thinking about, hm?”

Renjun splutters, Doyoung’s laughter echoing in the confined space of his apartment. For once the place doesn’t feel cold and isolated. Doyoung brings a spark of colour. Of warmth. The sun shines through the gaps in the curtains, dust motes swirling in the beam of light, and Renjun radiates contentment.

Maybe they’re still not quite sure where they stand yet but he feels a sense of peace all the same.

*

Somehow things fall back into their usual rhythm. Renjun feels like he should be disappointed, but he finds he’s more relieved. He doesn’t want things to change. Can’t bear losing his usual routine of mornings with sunshine filtering in through the windows of Doyoung’s office, cajoling him into attending his meetings, and making sure he eats enough when he’s consumed with his project, and just spending time in his presence while he taps away at his laptop.

It’s the same but it’s also not. Something has softened between them, shared looks lengthening while Doyoung smiles at him, and he finds that more and more a coffee is left by his desk from the expensive independent place around the corner, or sticky notes left for him to tell him that, no, he didn’t die at his desk, he’s just checking in with his team before Sooyoung can tear her hair out over the newest flaw in the designs.

Renjun plucks the latest sticky note off the desk and snorts at the sad face complete with tear marks, his finger playing with the corner. _Scolded for mouthing off to that nosy reporter. Grovelling to Irene for forgiveness._ Warmth curls in his chest.

If this is all they have – if he can come to work each day not dreading it – then it’ll be enough. He thinks he can say that they’re friends now, at the very least. Renjun has had much less than this, so he knows not to be greedy. Instead he’ll frame the memory of that night in his mind and put it to rest, glad to say he knows Doyoung’s touch, his laughter as he scrunches his nose, how the city lights wash across his face as he shudders with pleasure.

He’s not greedy and so it will be enough.

Renjun sticks the note in his drawer and gets back to work.

*

Despite having seen the scene many times before, little prepares Renjun for the way his heart skips a beat when he sees Doyoung slumped over his desk, mouth parted as he snores over the scattered sheets of his latest plans. If he slips out his phone and steals a picture of his face softened in sleep, well, no one needs to know. But it’s verging on seven-thirty, it’s pitch black beyond the window, and Doyoung’s going to wake up with an awful crick in his neck if Renjun leaves him.

Tiptoeing forward, he rests a gentle hand on his shoulder and shakes. “Wake up.”

Doyoung jerks, blinking heavily before lifting his head, rumpled as he looks around. His gaze settles on Renjun, adorable in how it takes a moment to focus. “Renjun? What is –”

“Time to go home. It’s late.”

Doyoung is alert in an instant, pushing himself to his feet. Renjun is almost impressed how he flicks the switch, taking a step back at the smile curling his lips. “Are you coming with?”

His cheeks flame. “Doyoung…” He licks his lips, takes another step back as Doyoung approaches; the beginning of a dance.

A hand tilts his chin up, lips ghosting over his. “I dreamed about you. Do you know that? I dream about you now.”

Renjun shivers. The words he wanted to stay catch in his throat, a small, needy noise escaping instead. Doyoung’s smile sharpens, fingers catching in his shirt and flipping their positions so he can press him back into the desk. The wood digs into the backs of his thighs as Doyoung presses in close, bringing them nose to nose.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

Renjun whacks him on the shoulder, scowling as Doyoung collapses into laughter, head bowed on his shoulder. He lifts a tentative hand, and then settles it on Doyoung’s head, scratching lightly at his scalp. Doyoung makes a small noise and then pulls back, expression deadly serious.

“Let me blow you.”

Renjun nearly passes out from his blood trying to decide whether to rush to his face or his groin. He stutters, trying to find words. Eventually he ekes out a, “ _Doyoung!_ ”

But Doyoung’s eyes curve as he grins and then suddenly he’s lowering himself down to his knees, hands skimming the backs of Renjun’s thighs. More than the promise of the act, it’s the way he looks on his knees that undoes Renjun. Peering up at him from a fringe of inky black hair, he teases at his zipper, and Renjun shivers. His hands land in Doyoung’s hair without thinking. Every nerve ending is on edge and he’s breathless with the anticipation.

“Doyoung,” he murmurs.

“Let me take care of you for once,” Doyoung says, and then he gets to work.

*

Voices drift from the door, heated enough that Renjun has the sense to pause before entering. It’s more instinct than reason, and it takes a moment for him to tune into the conversation before he can pick through the hushed words.

“Think about how this looks. If this gets out it could damage your reputation. We can’t have one policy for employees and a different one for the executives. It makes us look like tyrants.” The voice isn’t angry but it is reproachful. “You can’t keep this up.”

“It’s not like that,” says a tired voice. Doyoung. Renjun would recognise the colour of his voice anywhere. “I’m not taking advantage of him. It just… happened.”

“I know. I know you. But it doesn’t change the fact that you shouldn’t be crossing the line like that with your assistant.”

Renjun catches a distinctive profile through the crack in the door and recognises Taeyong. He gulps, stomach sinking as he realises what’s happening. He almost falls but only just manages to catch himself against the wall. It feels like everything is tumbling down. He’s going to lose his job. He’s going to lose everything, just because he couldn’t stop himself from becoming the very kind of cliché that he hates.

It all spirals away from him; the pride at working on the top floor of such a well-respected company in the centre of Seoul, lunches spent with Donghyuck and Jungwoo and Yeri, and the easy relationship he’s built with Doyoung that makes coming into work each day worthwhile. That makes it feel less like work and more like life, simple and fulfilling. The thought that it can all be wrenched away from him now, that he’ll go back to endless shifts at one too many places, not enough sleep to cope; it’s too much.

Tears pricking at his eyes, Renjun runs.

*

“This is becoming a habit.”

Tired eyes take a moment to process Doyoung at his door. There’s something wrong about seeing him at his door at three in the morning, rumpled in a hoodie and jeans. Doyoung doesn’t wear just a hoodie and jeans. He looks younger somehow, his hair in disarray around his face, hands stuffed into his pockets.

Renjun rubs at his eyes and scratches at his stomach. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Yeah. Can I come in?” In true Doyoung fashion he breezes inside, leaving Renjun to close the door behind them. The space feels too small with just the pair of them standing in the centre of his room, his washing hanging across the rack he’s squashed into the only spare floorspace. “Look, I couldn’t sleep and I think some things need to be said.”

“Do you want tea?”

“Uh…”

Renjun sighs, puts the kettle on anyway. Then he gestures to the threadbare sofa, throwing himself onto one corner and tucking his feet up. “So?”

Doyoung looks at him for a long moment. Licking his lip, he nods. “I’m guessing you heard me getting chewed out by Taeyong.”

“Yeah.”

“I mean, he’s not wrong. I am abusing my position here. It’s not fair to you or anyone else for me to be… intimate with someone working so closely to me.”

Renjun arches a brow as he pads to the kitchenette. “I was hardly saying no, Doyoung.”

“I know.” Doyoung leans over the back of the sofa as he busies himself with preparing a pot of jasmine. “But would it have put pressure on you, if you hadn’t wanted to? This job means a lot to you, and I, heck, I approached you when you were drunk. I shouldn’t have done that.” He presses a knuckle into his eye and Renjun feels his heart lurch at how lost he looks.

“Here, have some tea,” he says, sitting back down and pouring out two cups. The fragrant aroma is soothing, making up for the dinghy décor of his room. “You were drunk too. Maybe it’s not ideal, but… I consented.” He takes a deep breath, scalds his tongue on tea too hot to taste. “I still do.”

If he had been outside of this scenario looking in, he’s pretty sure he would have been disgusted with Doyoung. As it is, he _knows_ Doyoung. Knows he’d never take advantage like that. Knows that Renjun has been greedy, trying to have it all. Now here they are, and he’s terrified he’s about to lose everything. He should have known that he was never meant to have nice things.

Doyoung’s lips curl and then he’s rustling in his jacket pocket. He pulls out a few sheets of paper and hands them to Renjun, who can barely process spoken words at this moment, never mind the neat black print against white paper. It takes him a while, and by the time he’s examined it back to front his hand is shaking, his brow furrowed. He looks up at Doyoung, steam curling up from the cup clutched between his elegant hands.

“What is this?”

“What does it look like? It’s a job application.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Look,” says Doyoung, scooting further forward as he places his cup on the coffee table, “we can’t keep doing what we’re doing but –” he licks his lips, oblivious to the way Renjun’s heart is racing, his head blaring a warning siren at himself “– that doesn’t mean it can’t work out. This is a junior post in the accounts department. You’d be working under a really great manager, Johnny Seo. He’d train you up right. It’s a good opportunity for you, and it would mean that we wouldn’t be working too closely together for there to be… issues.”

Renjun’s heart clenches. “Doyoung, I’m not qualified for this.”

“You’re amazing with numbers, Renjun. I’ve seen it myself. And it’s a crying shame if we can’t foster your potential just because you didn’t have the same opportunity for an education as others. If you have a recommendation from me, they won’t turn you away.”

He shakes his head, gut churning. “I can’t. I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“That’s hardly any fairer, is it? Me taking someone’s job because I’m blowing the boss.”

Doyoung makes a noise in the back of his throat. “You’d be under Taeil’s division, anyway.”

At his arched brow, Doyoung sighs. “This isn’t a fair world. You and I both know this. But there’s no harm in taking opportunities afforded to you, is there? Besides, if you can put your head down and work your way up, maybe you’ll be in a position to change things, hm? NCT is the biggest technology company in South Korea. Think about how many lives we can change with our latest innovations. This is a chance to be a force for change.”

Renjun snorts, feeling warm. “That’s super cheesy for you, you know that? Why can’t you ever pull that out for the journalists?”

Doyoung waves him away, but he’s grinning wide. “They’re vultures, that’s why. Pecking about for scraps.”

Renjun ducks his head, the paper crinkling between his hands. “Can I really? I mean, can I even do something like –”

“Yes.”

Doyoung meets his gaze head on, faith unwavering. It steals the breath from his lungs, has him lurching forward to rest his hands on Doyoung’s shoulders so he can steal the air from his. He makes a small noise into the kiss, breathing heavily as Doyoung noses at his jaw, scrapes his teeth along his throat.

But then he disentangles them and stands up. Renjun barely holds onto his whimper.

“Come back when you’re ready. I’m not here to put pressure on you, just offering you the opportunity to think about.”

“Doyoung –”

Doyoung shakes his head. “I mean it, Renjun. Take some time to consider what you want. Whatever decision you make… I’ll understand.”

Then the door is closing behind him, leaving Renjun alone in his apartment at well past three in the morning, far too alert to dream of going back to sleep now.

*

“Are you sure you don’t have more stuff? This doesn’t seem like a lot.”

Renjun sighs, forcing his irritation back down as he smiles at Jaemin. He did agree to come and help him move into his new apartment, after all. Even if Renjun suspects he’s only doing it as a favour for Jeno, it has been a huge help to have the pair of them help carry the boxes down several flights of stairs to Jaemin’s car. If Renjun owned such a nice vehicle, he sure as hell wouldn’t want to leave it in his shitty apartment complex.

“This is everything,” he says, glancing around the empty box of a room. Funny, how it almost seems bigger without all his stuff in it. The light streams in through the window and almost makes it look inviting. Renjun supposes it’s just a strange fit of nostalgia.

“Come on, let’s get you moved,” says Jeno, bumping his hip as he carries the last box.

The whole trip feels surreal, the city flashing him by as Jaemin drives him away from the ugly grey block he used to call home. There’s a bubblegum pop track playing over the radio that Jaemin taps his fingers to, Jeno singing along softly, and for a moment he feels like he’s in a movie. He tries to let the thought ease his worry; the inevitable uncertainty that comes with uprooting his life. It’s not that he’s sorry to leave the old one behind; it’s more that the future yawns out before him, terrifying in its obscurity.

“This looks nice,” says Jeno as Jaemin pulls into a car park beneath an apartment complex that sits on a quiet lane about twenty minutes from Jeno’s university. “I’m excited!”

“Why? You’re not the one that’s moving in.”

Jeno rolls his eyes, ushering him onwards while Jaemin complains about being left to carry the boxes. But Renjun can’t fight the feeling bubbling up within his chest. He’s seen the apartment before when he went to view it but it’s different this time, when he knows the code to get into the building, stepping into a clean, freshly painted corridor. The lift even works and he doesn’t feel like he’s going to crash to his death as it carries them smoothly up to the sixth floor.

His first impression as he steps through the door is of light. Beams radiate across a modern laminate floor, dust motes glittering in the sunlight shining through the window. There’s so much space that he could run up and down, so he does, arms stretched wide and giggles escaping him as he spins around like a boy pretending to be a plane.

Jeno’s eyes crease as he grins and then he’s joining him, the walls echoing with laughter as they take turns around the room. Jaemin arrives moments later laden with boxes and he peeks over the top with wide eyes at the pair of them.

“Having fun, are we?” The boxes land with a thud and he shakes out his arms. “Don’t think about poor old me, or anything.”

By the time the three of them have managed to carry his stuff from the car, Renjun has his armchair, his bed, albeit still disassembled, and his coffee table set up, making the place feel a little more at home. He had left the old couch behind, figuring it had more than served its time. Once he’s had the chance to build up savings again he’ll see about investing in a new one to match the clean lines of his new apartment.

“Right, I need to go and pick up Jisung from school, since I’m apparently errand boy now,” says Jaemin.

“Thanks, Jaemin. I owe you a drink,” he says.

“Hell yeah you do.” With a salute he heads out the door.

“I’d better go catch my ride,” says Jeno, pointing after him.

Renjun waves him away, exhausted from the mix of emotions that have come with moving. “Thanks for your help today. It really means a lot.”

“I’m just glad to see you in a better place. I didn’t feel good leaving you back there, honestly.” As Jeno moves to open the door, a knock comes. He opens it and smiles broadly at none other than Doyoung standing at the door of his new place, a bottle of wine in one hand. “Come in,” he says. “I was just leaving.” Then with a cheeky wink that makes Renjun’s cheeks flame, he leaves them to the silence of his new apartment.

“So,” he says, looking around. “What do you think?”

Doyoung approaches him, following his gaze. “It’s nice. I like it a lot. I’ll like it even better when we get to christen the bed.”

Renjun wheezes, feeling his ears turn hot. “Doyoung!”

Doyoung just laughs, handing him what he’s sure is a very expensive bottle of wine. He leans in to hug him, breathing “Congratulations, Renjunnie,” into his ear.

Renjun squeaks and bats him away, Doyoung’s laughter echoing as he shows him around the apartment.

They end up spending the night watching TV cuddled on his armchair while Doyoung complains about how bony he is. Renjun thinks it’s an even better way to christen his first night in a new place, warm and content and free to just _be_ with Doyoung without worrying about how it looks.

*

“Sorry I’m late,” he huffs, grabbing a seat at the Thai place Doyoung had picked for lunch. “There was a bit of an emergency at the office.”

Doyoung shakes his head but he’s smiling. “Terrible. You shift over to another department for a few months and now you can’t even time keep.”

Renjun snorts, unwinding his scarf. “Who was the one who taught you timekeeping?”

“Yeah, yeah. I have to say, your successor is nowhere near as punctual. It feels like I’m keeping him on time.”

“You, really?”

Doyoung makes an offended noise and Renjun laughs, settling back into his seat. The restaurant is cozy, the pair of them tucked into a booth in the corner with the trickle of a pretty water feature next to them creating a soothing atmosphere. It still feels a little strange, to be casually meeting Doyoung like this instead of in a working context, but it’s nice. Even when they inevitably stray onto work in conversation, it’s relaxed. Easy. He leans on his hand and watches Doyoung scrunch his brow as he sifts through the menu, contemplating just how much his life has changed in the past year.

“So how’s the 127 project coming along now?”

“Trying to get company secrets out of me, Renjunnie? I’ll have you know that’s all very need to know.”

“I helped you with those reports,” he chides, unable to fight his grin.

Doyoung shrugs. “Yes, well, you’re a traitor who left me for Taeil. It’s fine, I know where your allegiance lies now.”

Renjun’s shoulders shake with laughter. He glances around him and then slides his hand across the table to skim his fingers over Doyoung’s. Doyoung strokes his thumb over the soft skin of his hand and he shivers pleasantly.

“When I proposed you apply for that job I didn’t consider that you would have to leave me. Come back,” he whines. “It’s no good without you. My new assistant can’t even make a decent cup of coffee.”

Renjun’s smile only grows, heart thumping. “Sorry, I’ve moved onto new pastures. You’ll just have to do without me.”

“Or I’ll just wait until tonight.” Doyoung waggles his brows and Renjun flushes, ducking his face as the waitress comes to take their order. Doyoung snickers, two fingers reaching over to tilt his chin back up. “Mine tonight?”

But Renjun’s not embarrassed of his place anymore. Penthouse it might not be, but there’s something homely about his quiet little street where he’s beginning to learn the names of his neighbours, like Hyunjin from two doors down who’s always making midnight trips for snacks, or Jongin from upstairs who always leaves early in the morning dressed like a supermodel. There’s even a convenience store down the street, and across from it is the most amazing BBQ place that he’s already taken Jeno, Jaemin, Donghyuck and Yeri to celebrate moving in.

“I was thinking mine, actually.”

“Yours it is.”

Doyoung seals it with a soft kiss against his lips.

**Author's Note:**

> With everything that's been happening to the world lately and me finally having time to work on something I decided to pick one of my wips that had a sense of normality to it. Never thought I'd say this but... there is something comforting about the routine of the office, I guess.
> 
> I'm ngl I'm hella drunk right now so I hope this isn't utter trash (I'll read this tomorrow and probably cringe lmao). I don't know if this is the place for it but I really hope y'all are all okay and staying safe. Stay inside and read fic, folks! Let's get through this together.
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3


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